E73 


CAOC  o 


fGold 


"^^^- 

of  the  El  Dorado 

Campbell 


00 
C\J 
03 


Souvenir     Edtiion 


GIFT  Of 
Glass    of   1387 


The  Age  of  Gold 

Being  a  collection  of  Northland  tales,  song, 
sketch  andnarrative,  miner-legend  and  camp- 
fire  reflections,  all  gleaned  at  first  hand  and 
done  in  doubtful  metre  by  an  eager  listener. 

Luther  Eugene  Campbell 


Press 

OTfntaker  anb  &aj>  -  TOtgstn  Co. 

San  Francisco 


COPYRIGHT,  1909 

BY 
LUTHER  EUGENE  CAMPBELL 


INSCRIPTION  AND  ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

To  that  loyal  comrade  and  friend  whose 
kindly  sympathy  and  companionship  brightened 
the  long  years  of  our  mutual  endeavor  •  in  the 
Yukon-Northwest : 

To  my  mining  partner, 

Heabentoortf)  Hersrtjato, 

this  little  volume  is  addressed  by  its  author,  in 
grateful  and  affectionate  remembrance. 

I  also  desire  to  acknowledge  the  valued  service 
of  a  friend  and  classmate  of  college  days: 

(Ebgar  $aul  ©'Hearp 

to  whose  able  and  scholarly  criticism  I  am  indebted 
in  the  score  of  euphony  and  clearness,  for  the  cor 
rection  of  many  faulty  passages. 

L.  E.  C. 


740016 


INTRODUCTION 

If  needed. 

The  author  of  this  small  sprig  of  poesy  made 
one  of  the  many  thousands  who  sought  the  gold- 
fields  of  Alaska  following  the  discovery  of  placer 
deposits  in  the  upper  Yukon  basin  in  1896-1897. 

The  long  trail  whose  drama  stretched  from  the 
shores  of  Puget  Sound  to  the  Arctic  Ocean,  was  his 
salutation  to  the  North.  He  found  there  a  land  of 
mystery  and  fabled  wealth,  the  lure  of  which  drew 
the  multitude  ever  on  and  on,  in  rainbow  promise, 
to  the  uttermost  recesses  of  its  wilderness  and 
desolation. 

The  story  of  this  hardy  band  of  Argonauts  who 
adventured  to  our  last  frontier  is  worthy  of  a  Mil 
ton's  pen;  a  Titian's  brush,  but  it  can  never  be 
fully  told  by  picture,  prose  or  poem.  One  dominant 
note,  at  first  in  buoyant  major  and  later  in  minor 
cadence  as  hope  failed  of  fruition,  rang  through  the 
years  while  the  panoramic  play  was  lived  in  pro 
gression.  The  memory  of  that  Pan-played  chord  is 
graven  deep  in  the  hearts  of  the  tens  of  thousands 
who  gave,  and  still  are  giving,  of  their  best  years  to 

[v] 


INTRODUCTION 

a  struggle  which  has  no  parallel  in  the  annals  of 
human  history. 

He  who  would  truly  depict  the  scenes  of 
Northern  life;  who  would  give  to  the  world  the 
moving  tale  of  that  far  pilgrimage  from  civilization 
to  the  frozen  solitudes  of  the  Alaskan-Northwest, 
must  have  lived  in  its  action;  have  shared  a  miner's 
privations,  toil  and  disappointment;  have  known 
and  felt  his  hopes  and  aspirations,  and  joyed  with 
him  in  the  hour  of  his  success.  The  theme  is  not  for 
the  mere  and  casual  spectator,  for  pen  and  brush 
must  draw  from  the  heart  ere  they  can  portray  with 
fidelity  the  scene  and  setting  of  that  strange  journey, 
which,  marked  with  the  life-blood  of  men  whose 
shallow  graves  dot  the  bleak  hillsides  of  many  a 
mountain  pass,  called  for  the  dauntless  courage  and 
resolution  with  which  our  Pilgrim  fathers  set  forth 
for  the  New  World's  shore. 

Realizing  his  limitations;  his  unfitness  for  the 
production  of  classic  song,  and  that  destiny  denied 
him  an  early  opportunity  for  the  attainment  of  that 
ripe  scholarship  and  profound  erudition,  which  is 
deemed  necessary  if  one  who  writes  would  be 
immune  from  the  attacks  of  the  literary  jackals  who 

[Of] 


INTRODUCTION 

consider  themselves  critics,  the  author  yet  would 
give  his  song  to  the  world  in  the  hope  that  its 
untutored  melody  may  gladden  the  hearts  of  those 
rough  and  simple  men  of  action,  whom  even  the 
unlettered  muse  may  joy.  To  his  miner-brothers, 
to  those  who  dared,  and  paid  the  cost,  he  looks  for  a 
lasting  appreciation  of  his  work — an  appreciation 
which  their  common  kinship  must  surely  give.  The 
immortal  bards  have  sung  all  songs  but  his,  and  if 
a  lesser  lyric  fail  to  attain  the  high  mark  set  by  their 
measures,  it  becomes  a  sure  prey  to  the  gaunt  ghouls 
of  criticism. 

With  no  thought  of  palliating  a  noble  rage  at 
his  presumption,  in  thus  daring  to  invade  with  these 
miner-tropes  the  sacred  realm  of  song,  he  yet  desires 
to  forestall  an  unnecessary  labor  on  the  part  of  these 
Herculean  janitors  of  literature,  by  hastening  to  add 
that  he  entertains  no  higher  opinion  of  his  fitness 
for  the  task  of  metrical  composition,  than  do  the 
gentle  critics  whose  stricture  of  his  verse  and  creative 
capacity  is  appended  to  this  volume.  He  cannot  but 
believe  that  those  who  speak  so  authoritatively  of  its 
merit  have  enriched  the  literature  of  the  world  by 
splendid  and  dazzling  song  of  absolute  metrical  per 
fection,  surpassing  at  least  the  humbler  poets. 


INTRODUCTION 

Yet,  whatever  may  be  the  reception  or  recog 
nition  accorded  this  work  by  those  who  tenant  the 
tall  canyoned  walls  of  city  streets ;  they  whose  hearts 
turn  in  longing  to  green  glades  which  border  lake  and 
stream;  those  to  whom  vale  and  mountain  call  in 
homing  welcome;  those  who  too  have  lived  and 
labored  in  miner-haunts  beneath  Northern  skies,  will 
find  in  it  some  re-echoed  thought  of  life's  better 
moments,  which  they,  each  one,  have  felt  and  known 
and  treasured. 

The  Age  of  Gold  was  written  by  many  camp- 
fires;  along  wintry  trails;  in  the  blessed  after 
math  of  rest  from  wearying  toil,  and  amid  the 
scenic  pageantry  and  motion  of  that  Eldorado-land 
of  which  it  speaks;  and  the  pure  pleasure  of  giving 
expression,  even  in  halting  metre,  to  an  epic  which 
would  portray  in  part  the  ideal  of  that  heroic  North 
ward  migration,  has  been  a  reward  which  no  scathe 
of  critic  can  taint  or  lessen. 

L.  E.  C. 
Goldfield,  Nev.,  Oct.  10,  1908. 


[  vm  ] 


IN  PREFACE 

We  bid  you  welcome  to  our  band, 
Who  yet  may  chance  to  read 
This  song  of  Eldorado-land, 
Its  peril,  pilgrimage  and  deed. 


Good  friends  and  true  would  proffer  here 
A  comrade's  hearty  greeting, 
Invite  you  each  to  share  their  cheer 
And  pleasure  at  the  meeting. 

Happy  our  concourse  'mid  such  scenes 
Of  mutual  mirth  and  pleasure, 
From  boon  companionship  Hope  gleans 
Her  golden  harvest's  measure. 

Come,  gather  to  the  fire  and  sup 
Of  Nature's  plenty  here  displayed, 
Come  taste  our  fare  and  quaff  the  cup 
While  gently  falls  the  twilight  shade. 

Here  in  fellowship  heart- royal 
All  are  brothers  to  the  free, 


THE  AGE   OF   GOLD 

Here  assembled  comrades  loyal 
Make  a  blithesome  company. 

Distant  is  the  crowded  city, 
vFar  removed  the  busy  mart, 
Yet 'be  ours  the  part  to  pity — 
•Here  we  dwell  near  Nature's  heart. 

These  are  they  who  voyage  ever 
On  the  stormy  seas  of  life, 
Making  each  his  best  endeavor 
To  win  fortune  in  the  strife. 

Youth's  impetuous  footstep  hastens 
Hope-sped,  eager  for  the  race, 
Soon  unkind  experience  chastens 
To  sedater  measured  pace. 

Next  a  man  of  high  ambition 
Who  would  scale  the  height  of  fame, 
Late  he  learns  man's  true  condition 
Is  content  with  honored  name. 


IN    PREFACE 

Still  another  has  been  banished 
By  stern  destiny's  decree; 
Life's  illusions  long  have  vanished, 
True  philosopher  is  he. 

Fourth  is  he  of  sturdy  figure 
Who  has  been  misfortune's  mate, 
Hardship,  toil,  privation's  rigor, 
Taught  him  patiently  to  wait. 

Last  comes  one  who  listened  eager 
While  the  journey  sped  along, 
His  has  been  the  effort  meagre 
To  repeat  its  storied  song. 

So  once  again  a  welcome  hearty 
Each  one  here  to  you  extends, 
Come,  join  us  in  the  revel-party 
Where  the  evergreen  bough  bends. 


THE  ELDORADO  SEEKING 

Deep  down  'mid  primordial  vastness 

Where  falls  no  bright  sun-ray, 

Close  locked  within  icy  fastness 

In  age  long  seons  passed  away 

The  North's  alluvial  beds  would  hold 

Their  hoarded  treasure  of  shining  gold 

Ever,  and  forever,  and  a  day. 

But  the  miner  came  with  his  pick  and  pan, 

With  his  thews  of  sturdy  strength, 

And  wrought  to  learn  the  primal  plan 

Till  the  gold  was  found  at  length, 

Till  stream  and  hill  and  ocean  shore 

Gave  back  their  wealth  to  his  toil-learned  lore 

And  the  elemental  might  of  a  man. 

He  had  wandered  far  from  his  native  heath 
To  this  Northland's  frost-ribbed  vales, 
He  had  digged  down  to  the  rock  beneath 
And  more,  he  had  hearkened  to  the  tales 
When,  gathered  about  the  fire  at  night, 
Some  trapper  told  of  the  pebbles  bright 
Once  found,  entombed  in  their  icy  sheath. 

[4] 


<fHE  ELDORADO  SEEKING 

There,  toiling  in  faith,  from  friends  exiled 
Far  from  loved  ones  he  dwelt  apart, 
Yet  visions  of  home,  of  the  wife  and  child 
Distant,  but  dear  to  his  lonely  heart 
Would  oft'  times  come,  to  urge  him  seek 
For  the  trapper's  golden-graveled  creek, 
And  once  again  was  his  hope  beguiled. 

They  nestle  by  each  lone  mountain-side 
The  cabin  homes  of  them  who  tried 
To  wrest  from  the  eternal  hills, 
From  rivulet  channel,  rift  and  rills, 
From  where  age-buried  centuries  left 
In  seam  and  crevice,  clay  and  cleft, 
The  gold  Dame  Nature  strives  to  hide. 

"Ye  hearts  of  men,  born  to  unrest 

Hope  on,  'tis  heritage  of  the  race, 

And  wide  though  be  thy  search  and  quest 

At  last  thou  comes t  to  the  place 

Where  Earth's  true  riches  do  abide, 

Yet  if  thou  seekest  alone,  in  pride, 

Ne'er  South,  nor  North,  nor  East,  nor  West.3 

[5] 


THE  FINDING 

Prologue  in  recitavo 

The  sad-tinted  Autumn  had  come  to  the  land, 
The  song  of  the  Summer  was  stilled  by  its  hand, 
The  blight  of  the  Arctic  had  spread  o'er  the  earth 
To  harvest  in  death  what  the  Spring  gave  in  birth, 
When  two  hunter-comrades  their  quarry  gave  chase 
On  the  flank  of  a  mountain,  and  close  in  its  trace 
Reached  the  course  of  a  stream  which,  cleared  at  a 

bound 

By  the  moose  in  its  flight,  in  its  footprints  they  found 
A  dull  gleaming  pebble,  and  gave  the  stream  name 
Of  Bonanza^  all  hail  to  its  glory  and  fame. 

The  news  of  the  find  was  a  herald  of  hope 
And  rumor  ran  relay  to  tell  of  its  scope, 
Prospectors  stampeded  from  near  and  from  far, 
From  Circle,  from  Rampart,  from  Forty-Mile  bar 
They  flocked  to  the  Klondyke,  for  promise  allured 
And  richer  and  greater  reward  was  assured. 
With  the  first  bullion  shipment  its  story  was  told, 
The  Portland  brought  down  a  half  million  in  gold 
And  an  Argonaut  pilgrimage  northward  began 
Such  as  ne'er  had  been  seen  in  the  era  of  man. 


THE  TIDINGS 

tfime — Autumn,  1897 

"Attention,  friend,  'tis  said  that  past 
Alaska's  rugged  barrier  chain 
Where  sweeps  the  bitter  wintry  blast 
Along  its  mountain  and  its  plain, 
There  lies  a  land  whose  streams  abound 
With  yellow  gold  which,  lately  found, 
To  them  who  but  make  haste  and  reach 
Their  golden  strands,  to  all  and  each 
A  fortune  waits,  that  here  would  be 
Beyond  a  lifetime's  hope  to  see. 

That  'tis  no  idle  tale  is  proven 
For  ships  arrive  with  treasure  laden 
And  tidings  bring  that,  as  they  sailed 
From  out  the  port,  a  steamer  hailed, 
But  then  arriving  down  the  river, 
To  say  each  day  new  fields  discover, 
And  virgin  ground  of  vast  extent 
Awaits  the  coming  and  advent 
Of  men,  whose  venturous  hardihood 
Bids  them  to  share  in  amplitude. 

[7] 


<?HE  AGE   OF   GOLD 

So  vast  its  wealth  'tis  said  that  they 
Who  ventured  there  in  earlier  day 
And  found  the  Eldorado's  treasure, 
Now  fling  its  gold  about  for  pleasure, 
Or  seeking  what  no  gold  can  buy, 
A  wanton's  greed  must  gratify, 
And  nightly  dance-house  dissipation 
Vies  shameless  orgies  of  libation; 
What  say'st  thou,  neighbor,  go  we  there 
Where  honest  toil  may  win  its  share?" 

Sped  the  message  far  and  wide, 

Press,  pulpit,  people  voiced  the  tale 

How  fortune  beamed  on  those  who  plied 

The  pick,  along  the  Klondyke's  vale. 

What  wonder  then  from  every  land, 

Of  all  conditions,  high  and  low, 

Came  fifty  thousand  men,  a  band 

Undaunted  by  that  waste  of  snow 

Which  crowned  the  pass  and  mountain  height ; 

Soldiers  of  Fortune,  theirs  the  fight. 

Embarking  with  the  hurrying  throng 
Whose  pulse  throbs  with  expectancy, 


<fHE   TIDINGS 

Are  those  whose  hearts'  affection  strong 

Wrings  there  to  deepest  misery. 

They  part  from  all  that  life  holds  dear; 

Let  others  join  the  gusty  cheer 

And  turn  with  jest  and  laughter  light 

To  view  the  harbor  fade  from  sight. 

"Dwell  here,  Dear  Heart,  near  to  my  side," 

To  them  the  loved  one's  parting  cried. 

They  voyage  on,  a  week  glides  past 
Ere  Chilcoot's  peaks  are  seen  at  last, 
But  soon  they  stand  upon  the  beach 
Below  the  summit  they  must  reach. 
The  scene  is  one  past  power  of  pen — 
Its  throngs  of  eager-busied  men; 
Bags,  boxes,  bales,  strange  cargoed  freight 
Scattered  in  all  disordered  state, 
While  here  and  there  the  comers  new 
Discuss  the  problem,  "What  to  do." 

Resolved,  at  length  they  take  the  trail 
Upward  and  onward  through  the  snow; 
As  beasts  of  burden  they  must  scale 
The  glaciered  cliffs  toward  which  they  go, 

[9] 


tfHJE  AGE   OF   GOLD 

For  each,  supplies  in  ample  store 
Has  landed  at  the  Inlet's  shore, 
And  to  the  Yukon's  upper  course 
Must  each  transport  a  year's  resource. 
No  weakling  task  this,  strength  will  need 
A  heart  courageous  for  the  deed. 

Thus  pass  the  weeks,  their  toil  each  day 
Is  surceased  by  the  thought  that  they 
Are  nearing  that  famed  river's  slope 
Which  fancy  limns  in  golden  hope. 
Sheeps  Camp — the  Scales — at  last  'tis  won, 
Before  them  glittering  in  the  sun 
The  phalanxed  mountain  ranges  show; 
Achievement  thrills  with  generous  glow 
And  with  their  sleds  they  haste  to  make 
A  camping  spot  beside  the  lake. 

Springtime  hasv  come,  the  month  is  May, 
A  boat  is  built,  they  sail  away 
Adown  Lake  Bennett's  snow-peaked  shore, 
Eager  to  learn  what  lies  before. 
Safely  they  crest  Mile's  Canyon's  swirl, 
Surge  safely  through  White  Horse's  curl, 
[to] 


TIDINGS 


Where  maddened  waters  rush  to  gloat 
Exultant  o'er  the  laden  boat, 
And  all  the  hardy  helmsman's  skill 
Avails  for  naught,  if  fates  be  ill. 

Their  craft  sweeps  on,  the  river's  brink 
Is  dotted  now  with  camp  and  tent; 
Storm-swept  LaBerge,  Five  Fingers,  Rink, 
Pass  in  their  turn  and  soon  are  blent 
In  memory  with  some  newer  scene 
As  mount  and  meadowed  island  green, 
Each  curve  of  the  broad  current  shows  ; 
They  reach  the  place  at  last  where  flows 
The  aural  Klondyke,  whose  bright  sand 
Has  lured  them  from  their  native  land. 

This  pilgrim-journal  shall  not  pause 

Until  one  thing  of  truth  is  told, 

Of  wrong  there  wrought  to  them,  its  cause 

Rapacious  greed  of  men  who  hold 

A  public  trust  but  means  for  plunder, 

And,  scorning  right,  rend  laws  asunder. 

Officials  high  in  public  state 

Their  henchmen  placed  there  to  create 


<fHE  AGE  OF  GOLD 

A  petty,  pilfering,  knavish  crew 
To  thieve  away  the  miner's  due. 

Dishonesty  sat  throned  in  grace, 
Corruption  held  high  power  and  place 
And  so  exempt,  the  officialed  few 
More  arrogant,  for  booty  grew. 
Did  HEARDMAN  heed  that  men  had  fought 
Long  weeks  and  months  to  make  advance, 
Or  FAWCETT  care  that  now  they  sought 
In  simple  right,  a  miner's  chance*? 
From  SIF TON'S  gang,  appeal  were  vain 
For  spoil  and  plunder  held  the  rein. 

No  sum  could  recompense  the  men 
Whose  wrongs  are  writ  on  every  page 
Of  records,  where,  had  they  but  been 
As  was  their  right  and  heritage, 
Inscribed  as  owners  and  in  fee, 
Success,  not  failure,  now  would  be 
Their  lot,  and  part,  and  where  now  stand 
Deserted  cabins  through  the  land, 
A  thriving  populace  would  dwell 
Whose  days  would  Plenty's  blessing  tell. 


RAFTSMAN'S    CHANTEY 

"Heave  ho,  my  bully  boys,  away  heave  ho," 

Calls  the  doughty  captain  and  the  raftsmen  know 

There  is  work  ahead  to  do, 

They  must  'scape  each  shoal  and  slough, 

Ere  they  reach  the  landing-eddy  they  must  row. 

Heave  ho,  my  bully  boys,  away  heave  ho, 

Let  each  stalwart  son  of  toil  his  mettle  show, 

As  along  the  turbid  stream 

To  the  rippling  waters'  gleam, 

We  float  onward  with  the  flood's  majestic  flow. 

Heave  ho,  my  bully  boys,  again  heave  ho, 

On  adown  the  current  of  the  river  now  we  go, 

We  have  labored  long  and  hard, 

For  our  journey 's-end  reward, 

Now  we  venture  to  the  market  far  below. 

Heave  hard,  my  bully  boys,  walk  her  away, 
Bring  the  force  of  all  your  mighty  sweeps  in  play, 
In  that  draw  the  shallows  lurk, 


<fHE  AGE   OF  GOLD 

Work  back  to  the  channel,  work, 

Or  our  boom  will  bleach  on  bars  for  many  a  day. 

Ease  her  now,  my  bullies,  the  danger  is  by, 

Fill  your  pipes  and  watch  the  graceful  swallows  fly, 

With  such  men  to  man  the  craft, 

We  could  ride  a  bubble-raft, 

Slough  and  shallow,  bar  and  breaker  we  defy. 

Heigh-ho,  my  bullies,  the  landing's  in  sight, 

And  we'll  join  the  mad  carousal  there  tonight, 

There'll  be  fiddling,  frolic,  fun, 

There'll  be  bright  gold  lost  and  won, 

Though  the  raftsman's  toil  is  hard,  his  heart  is  light. 


THE  GOOD  HOPE  MINE 

Oh,  be  this  the  spot  where  the  gold  is  secreted, 
We  have  delved  oft  before  in  the  fulness  of  hope, 
And  again  have  essayed  till  our  search  be  completed, 
To  compass  the  task  which  the  miner  must  cope. 

Afar  we  have  sought  it — the  place  of  our  vision, 
By  moorland  and  mountain  continued  the  quest 
Though  ever  has  issue  disheartened  decision 
To  seek  it  anew  with  first  ardor  and  zest. 

We  hear  of  old  comrades  whose  rich  acquisition 
Has  brought  them  the  plenty  they  hoped  to  com 
mand, 

Let  us  now  to  the  shaft  and  from  bed-rock's  position, 
Disclose  if  reward  for  our  toil  shall  be  bann'd. 

Draw  near  as  the  bucket  ascends  to  the  surface, 
Our  comrade  beneath  in  the  dim  candle  glow 
Bespeaks  a  belief  that  this  gravel  will  preface 
The  golden  deposit  the  channel  should  show. 


<?HE  AGE  OF  GOLD 

It  topples  the  platform,  a  moment  suspended 
The  windlass-drum  creaks  at  its  sudden  release, 
And  safe  on  the  landing  is  quickly  up-ended; 
Eureka!   'tis  part  of  the  famed  golden  fleece. 

"Ahoy  there  below,  we  have  struck  a  bonanza, 
The  bright  metal  gleams  in  the  earth  at  our  feet;" 
We  christened  our  mine  the  "Good  Esperanza," 
For  hope  beckoned  on  to  a  fortune  replete. 


[16] 


THE  TALE  OF  THE  MIDAS  MINE 

A  Prospector's  Story 
Epilogue 

Gold,  gold,  thing  of  potency  and  power 

With  gift  to  cheat  and  charm, 

Alway  in  an  evil  hour 

Thou  comest  to  hurt  and  harm 

And  in  thy  death-alluring  train 

Bring' st  gross-devouring  lust  of  gain, 

Bring'st  curse  of  suffering  and  pain. 

In  strange,  mysterious  fateful  ways 

Mankind  behest  of  thine  obeys, 

E'en  though  thy  form's  enchantment  shows 

Afar  mid  wastes  of  polar  snows. 

Gold,  jest  thou  art  of  unkind  fate, 

Composed  of  hope  and  hell  and  hate 

Which,  for  our  footstep  lies  in  wait. 


THE  AGE   OF  GOLD 
The  Rumored  Tale 

Long  years  ago  a  vessel  passed 

Through  Behring's  polar  gate, 

Imprisoned  in  an  ice-pack  fast 

It  drave  north-eastward  from  the  strait, 

Then  far  to  the  East  the  current  bore, 

When,  driven  to  an  unknown  shore, 

By  wide  floe  fields  encircled  round, 

She  sank  within  an  islet  sound, 

And  all  her  crew,  save  one,  were  drowned. 

That  sole  survivor  made  his  way 
Across  MacKenzie's  berg-strewn  bay, 
Across  the  vapor-curtained  field 
Whose  danger  ever  it  half  concealed, 
Along  moraine  and  glacial  pass, 
O'er  rugged  ridge  and  deep  crevasse, 
And,  starving,  reached  a  whaling  post 
Maintained  upon  the  Arctic  coast; 
This  is  the  story  of  his  host : 

"When,  in  delirium,  fever  toss'd 
The  tale  of  suffering  he  told, 


<fHE  ^ALE  OF  <?HE  MIDAS  MINE 

Ever  in  wandering,  he  crossed 
A  river,  paved  with  gold; 
Deep  in  a  gorge,  and  near  its  head, 
A  stream  by  glitt'ring  glaciers  fed 
Ran  rippling  o'er  its  golden  bed." 


The  Scene 

An  Autumn  night,  aurorae  bright 
Illumining  the  northern  sky, 
The  Yukon  swiftly  sweeping  by 
Where  lofty  mountains  rise  in  rank, 
Frost-haloed  thickets  on  each  flank, 
And  friendly  forests  stretch  before 
Fringing  the  mighty  river's  shore. 
Reflected  from  this  sylvan  screen 
Of  bough  and  branch,  the  glow  and  sheen 
Of  a  camp-fire's  ruddy  flame  is  seen. 

The  fitful-gleaming  shadows  fall 
Upon  a  man,  broad,  sinewy,  tall, 
One  well  within  his  median  prime 
But  whom  the  silver  touch  of  time 

1*9] 


?HE  AGE   OF  GOLD 

Has  penciled  with  no  sparing  hand; 
Grouped  about  yet  others  stand, 
Though  none  in  vigor  can  compare 
To  him  of  the  half-whited  hair 
Whom  Nature  marks,  their  leader  there. 

An  humble  repast  has  been  spread 
Beneath  the  canopying  trees, 
Whose  tops,  high  arching  overhead, 
Sway  gently  in  the  evening's  breeze. 
Soon  the  simple  meal  is  done 
And,  gath'ring  round  the  fire,  each  one 
In  turn  discourses  venturous  deed, 
Whilst  incense  sweet — the  wanderer's  meed- 
Wafts  from  solacing  pipe  and  weed. 

Companions  these  of  many  a  trail, 
Now  from  a  bootless  quest  returning, 
They  urge  Grey-beard  recount  the  tale 
Awhile  the  cheery  blaze  is  burning, 
How  once  he  sought  a  wondrous  mine 
Beyond  the  Arctic  Porcupine. 
Each  knew  his  charm,  for  true  and  well 

[20] 


<fHE   <fALE   OF   <?HE   MIDAS  MINE 

A  stirring  story  he  could  tell, 
Listen,  and  learn  what  there  befell. 

<f  he  Story 

His  strange  recital  thus  began — 
"We  were  there  in  search  of  the  gold 
Which  the  miser  earth  doth  hold, 
In  gluttonous  and  greedy  grasp, 
With  cold  benumbing  icy  clasp, 
Hidden  with  craft  and  cunning  plan 
Away  from  the  sight  of  selfish  man. 

Through  weary  weeks  of  stubborn  toil 
With  fire  we  fought  the  frozen  soil, 
Striving  by  finite  force  to  know 
Where  ancient  channels  once  did  flow, 
Leaving  their  tawny-gleaming  hoard 
In  subterranean  recess  stored, 
And  glacial  fastness,  unexplored. 

There  we  wrought  the  Summer  through 
Until  the  snows  of  Autumn  came, 
When,  driven  by  need,  at  last  we  drew 
[21} 


?HE  AGE   OF  GOLD 

Across  the  hills  in  search  of  game, 
Heavy  were  the  hearts  we  bore, 
And  meagre,  was  the  golden  store 
Wrested  from  the  river's  floor. 

Four  days  we  sledged  in  northward  jaunt 

Through  winding  lanes  of  birch  and  spruce, 

To  reach  at  length  the  native  haunt 

Of  musk  ox,  caribou,  and  moose. 

There,  'mid  frozen  swamp-land  bogs 

We  built  a  cabin-hut  of  logs, 

A  shelter  rude,  for  men  and  dogs. 

What  hunter  has  not  known  the  thrill 

Of  a  noble  quarry's  chase, 

To  win  our  sustenance  by  kill 

Is  instinct  to  the  human  race. 

We  sought  successfully  to  slay, 

Success  augmented  day  by  day 

As  near  or  far,  we  found  our  prey. 

Winter  had  spread  upon  the  ground 

Its  pallid,  drifting  sheet 

When,  on  a  foray  bent,  we  found 

[22] 


<fHE   3ALE   OF   THE   MIDAS  MINE 

The  late  imprint  of  human  feet; 
Following  on  to  where  it  led, 
Within  a  sheltering  brushwood  shed, 
A  man  lay  dying  on  its  bed. 

As  bending  close  to  where  he  lay 
His  longing  gaze  upon  us  fell, 
In  whisper  hoarse  we  heard  him  say 
He  could  to  us  a  secret  tell, 
Should  we  by  solemn  oath  declare 
That,  to  a  distant  wife  and  child 
In  part  the  treasure  we  would  bear, 
Which,  in  that  dread  and  wintry  wild, 
After  hardship,  toil  and  strife 
He  now  had  purchased  with  his  life. 
We  gave  the  promise  in  assent, 
And  knelt  to  learn  his  strange  portent 

Before  his  feeble  strength  was  spent. 

*     *     *     * 

'I  shipped,'  he  said,  'from  Bedford  town 
As  first  mate  of  the  Martha  Mom, 
And  on  the  tasseled  fields  of  corn 
As  we  sailed  out  for  the  Southern  Horn, 
A  summer's  sun,  in  love  looked  down 

[23] 


<fHE  AGE  OF  GOLD 

With  never  a  passing  cloud  to  frown 
Upon  the  harvest's  stubble  brown. 

The  stormy  Cape  was  in  springtime  mood 
As  we  weathered  its  point  and  our  course  pursued 
To  the  northern  ocean,  whose  fettered  plain 
Gave  richer  promise  of  common  gain. 
Through  Unimak's  narrow  cloud-cloaked  lane 
We  threaded  the  dread  Aleutian  chain, 
To  follow  the  drift,  to  the  Arctic  main. 

Two  summers  we  cruised  that  fretful  sea, 

Hunting,  for  bone,  the  bow-head  whale, 

And  ever  escaped  disaster-free 

Until  one  Spring  a  furious  gale 

Drove  us  hard  upon  a  floe, 

When  quick,  to  her  reckoning  below 

The  good  ship  Martha  Morn  did  go. 

Of  all  her  crew  but  I  escaped, 

And  to  the  west  a  course  I  shaped, 

Thankful  indeed  to  be  afloat, 

With  a  harpoon  lance  and  a  whaling  boat. 

Slender  though  the  chance  they  gave, 

[»*] 


<fHE   <f4LE   OF   <?HE   MIDAS  MINE 

To  Barrow's  Point  far  o'er  the  wave 
I  hoped  to  win,  and  cheat  the  grave. 

Anon  through  rift  of  parting  cloud 
I  saw  the  green-hued  glacial  wall, 
Anon  the  lifted  curtain  showed 
Cliff-buttressed  mountain  tall, 
Yet  ever  from  the  north  was  flung 
That  misty  mantle,  in  seeming  hung 
To  hide  the  jutting  reef  and  rock, 
To  screen  the  treacherous  icy  block, 
And  with  its  menace,  hope  to  mock. 

Long  days  and  weeks  with  desperate  might 

I  fought  that  grim,  despairing  fight, 

My  daily  food  the  flesh  of  seal 

Won  with  the  ready  harpoon's  steel. 

Then  one  day  as  I  lay  and  slept, 

Into  the  pack  my  boat  was  swept, 

And,  gaining  a  nearby  summit's  mound 

I  wept  for  joy,  for  there  I  found 

The  mainland  shore,  and  the  ice  aground. 


<?HE  AGE   OF  GOLD 

Onward  I  struggled  day  by  day 

To  that  westward  goal  where  succor  lay, 

Remembering  little  of  all  between 

But  that  gnawing  hunger,  fierce  and  keen, 

As  I  climbed  the  rugged  mountain-side, 

Was  sapping  fast  life's  vital  tide, 

And  that  once,  in  skirting  a  defile  bold 

To  ford  a  torrent-rivulet  cold, 

Its  bed  shone  bright  with  grains  of  gold. 

That  was  years  ago,  but  predestined  lot 

Drew  me  again  to  the  cursed  spot, 

And  with  trusted  friends  I  sought  to  find 

That  aural  stream  I  had  left  behind. 

Though  in  many  a  deep-indentured  cove 

We  anchored  the  sloop  and  eager  strove, 

It  ever  escaped  our  search  and  quest; 

Disheartened  at  last,  they  turned  to  the  west, 

And  alone,  I  watched  them  sail  away, 

For  I,  had  elected  still  to  stay 

On  that  lonely  shore  so  grim  and  gray. 

Once  more  I  stood  beside  that  sea, 
Whose  peril  all  was  known  to  me, 


?HE   3 ALE   OF   <fHE   MIDAS  MINE 

Once  more  I  labored  at  the  oar 

Along  that  ice-embattled  shore. 

For  weeks  unceasingly  I  sought 

But  vain  the  search  howe'er  I  wrought, 

My  task  each  night  was  done  for  naught. 

Then  at  last,  as  I  rounded  a  frowning  cape 
The  scene  before  took  familiar  shape 
And  soon  I  had  come  again  to  the  place 
Which  fancy  ever  had  loved  to  trace. 
Beaching  the  boat  at  the  broad  moraine 
I  ascended  the  rocky  channeled  drain, 
To  behold  the  precious  sands  again. 

I  had  killed  a  seal  beside  the  shore 
And,  filling  the  skin  with  a  golden  store, 
I  hoisted  the  sheet  to  voyage  back 
While  yet  I  could  skirt  the  drifting  pack, 
For  a  week  I  held  along  the  course 
Ere  shoreward  it  came  with  resistless  force, 
And,  driven  for  safety  to  the  land, 
Encamped  in  a  village  near  at  hand, 
I  found  a  native  tribal  band. 

[27} 


<fHE  AGE   OF   GOLD 

As  winter  came  with  its  night  and  snow 
I  joined  with  the  wandering  Eskimo 
To  journey  south  to  the  valley  here 
Where  they  hunt  the  timid  Northland  deer. 
A  lack  of  woodcraft  has  been  to  my  cost 
For,  roaming  afar  and  hopelessly  lost 
I  crept  here,  to  die  in  the  deadly  frost. 

At  the  native  Igloo  lies  the  leathern  skin, 
My  hard-won  gold  lies  buried  therein, 
With  this  rude  chart  to  follow  by, 
Pass  a  high  peak  which  marks  the  sky 
And  enter  the  defile  close  beside, 
'Twill  lead  to  a  mine  by  the  ice-bound  tide 
Where  riches  untold,  do  thy  coming  abide.' 

Away  to  the  north  o'er  the  crisping  snow 
The  dying  stranger  bade  us  go 
To  where  a  mighty  glacier  lay 
Fronting  a  land-locked  ocean  bay. 
Its  water  course  we  must  ascend, 
Where,  near  unto  its  upper  end, 
Broad  bedded  in  the  shallow  stream, 

[28} 


<?HE   ^ALE   OF   <fHE   MIDAS  MINE 

O'erflowing  crevice  crack  and  seam, 
Lay  boundless  wealth — ours  to  redeem. 

Closer  we  drew  as  in  hushed  spell 
His  fait' ring  murmured  accents  fell, 
And  each,  in  eagerness  attent 
Nearer  to  that  low  couch  bent. 
Silently  we  heard  the  tale, 
In  silence  saw  his  life-light  fail 
And  death  bedew  his  countenance  pale. 

Like  one  who  listens,  he  paused — and  sighed 
Ere  he  passed  the  bounds  of  life's  divide; 
Then,  reverently  and  in  breathless  awe 
We  sought  the  enfolding  robe  to  draw 
About  his  corse  in  shrouding  fold; 
There,  clasped  within  his  stiffening  hold 
He  held  a  nugget  of  virgin  gold. 

We  had  heard  in  doubt,  now  as  we  gazed 
On  the  narrative's  proof,  we  stood  amazed 
Till,  surging  sudden  to  our  sense 
Came  the  desire  to  hasten  hence, 
And,  heedless  of  the  unburied  dead 


<fHE  AGE   OF  GOLD 

We  rushed  forth  to  the  waiting  sled, 
Nor  gave  a  thought  of  turning  back 
As  we  lashed  the  cringing  wolf-dog  pack 
Swiftly  forward  along  his  track. 

Quick  coursing  by  the  forest's  edge, 

Following  fast  the  swaying  sledge, 

We  sped  along  in  frenzied  haste, 

To  reach  at  length  a  sparse-grown  waste, 

By  freezing  Arctic  storm  winds  fann'd, 

That  desolate  reach  and  barren  band 

Which  girds  the  Continent's  northmost  land. 

Throughout  the  dim  light  of  that  day 
No  living  creature  crossed  our  way, 
Nor  sound  the  slumbering  stillness  stirred, 
Save  that  at  even  afar  we  heard, 
Faint  falling  from  the  frosty  sky 
Or  croaking  raucously  nearer  by, 
The  raven's  weird,  ill-omened  cry. 

Around  about  dark  lowering  night, 
Glooming  in  keen  and  frigid  blight, 
Spread  over  all  the  white  expanse 

is?] 


<fHE   <fALE   OF   <fHE   MIDAS  MINE 

Before  we  checked  our  swift  advance, 
Nor  paused  until  then  to  prepare 
The  hunter's  frugal,  homely  fare. 
Soon  a  camp-fire's  gleaming  crest 
Rose  before  a  bough-made  nest 
And  each,  in  furry  robe,  sought  rest. 

Long  hours  before  a  roseate  dawn 

The  curtaining  cowl  of  night  had  drawn 

We  breakfasted  and  were  away, 

Hoping  before  the  close  of  day 

To  gain  the  pass  which  there  before, 

Close  guarded  by  its  sentinel  hoar, 

Led  to  that  hidden  Midas'  store. 

A  sullen  silence  seemed  to  brood 
O'er  all  the  voiceless  solitude; 
The  north  hare  held  her  snowy  form, 
The  fox  sought  out  its  earthing  warm, 
The  ravening  wolf  to  shelter  stayed 
Deep  within  the  willow  glade 
Nor  dared  to  venture  forth  to  find 
Its  prey  among  the  lesser  kind, 
For,  pitilessly  that  polar  breath 


THE  AGE   OF   GOLD 

Swept  southward  o'er  the  congealed  earth, 
And  only  man,  would  brave  its  death. 

Again  the  sombre  shadows  throng 
To  blot  the  cheerless  scene; 
With  laggard  step  we  creep  along, 
With  weary  and  dejected  mien. 
We  made  our  halt,  the  fire  soon  lit, 
Unlashed  our  robes  and  camping  kit, 
Cut  shrub  and  brush  and  spread  below 
To  fend  our  covering  from  the  snow; 
Thus  made  the  bed  that  hunter's  know. 

The  day  was  breaking  as  we  left 
Our  camp,  and  entered  the  deep  cleft 
Whose  drifted  slopes  to  left  and  right 
Stretched  upward  to  the  frowning  height. 
My  two  companions  forged  ahead 
To  break  trail  for  the  weighted  sled, 
While  up  their  narrow  snow-shoe  road 
The  team  came  panting  with  the  load 
Urged  on  by  me  with  lash  and  goad. 


<fHE   fALE   OF   <?HE  MIDAS  MINE 

Mid-day  a  half  mile  lay  between 
Though  they  could  yet  be  plainly  seen, 
When  from  high  up  the  mountain  side 
The  field  of  snow  began  to  slide; 
With  swift  momentum  reached  the  steep 
And  with  one  furious  awful  leap, 
Entombed  beneath  its  mighty  mass 
The  men  before  me  in  the  pass. 
Appalled,  I  gazed;  in  dumb  affright 
I  viewed  that  high-heaped  tomb  of  white, 
Then  turned  the  team,  and  hid  the  sight. 

Alone,  alone,  alone;  if  one  above 
There  be  who  looketh  down  in  love, 
Who  marketh  e'en  the  sparrow's  fall 
And  can  direct  the  course  of  all, 
Thy  love  displays  this  hour  a  mood 
As  would  distrust  engendered  good. 
Faith  falters  of  Thine  infinite  care; 
In  mine  own  strength  lies  hope  to  fare, 
Hence  to  that  lowly  cabin  there. 

That  night  I  slept  within  the  rest 
From  whence  at  morning  we  had  prest, 

[33] 


<?HE  AGE   OF  GOLD 

And  backward  o'er  the  dim-lit  waste 
Ere  dawn  of  day  I  sped  in  haste. 
What  Crusoe  learned  upon  his  isle 
Came  home  to  me  each  weary  mile ; 
My  dogs  made  company ;  dumb  friends 
Such  solace  to  affliction  lends, 
That  unto  them  I  spake  my  thought 
As  down  the  drifting  track  we  fought. 
'My  Captain  dog  so  fleet  and  true, 
No  nobler  beast  e'er  breathed  than  you, 
By  right  of  worth,  you  lead  the  crew. 

Turk,  Buster,  Ben,  faithful  and  strong 
And  tireless  though  the  trail  be  long, 
Sturdy  old  Warrior,  Socks,  your  mate, 
Whose  courage  makes  his  might  as  great, 
Though  sired  by  rangers  fierce  and  free 
Your  mothers'  whelped  their  broods  to  be 
Of  service  in  my  hour  of  plight, 
To  save  from  death  a  hapless  wight, 
Entrapped  in  this  dread  barren's  blight.' 

Thus  meditating,  half  in  shame 
At  past  unkindnesses,  I  came 

[34} 


fHE  3 ALE  OF  VHE  MIDAS  MINE 

Again  at  dusk  within  the  wood 

By  which  our  first  encampment  stood. 

Pausing,  I  heard  from  back  the  trail 

A  sound — once  more — a  wolfish  wail 

Answered  in  chorus  now  more  near, 

Quickly  I  loosed  the  harness  clear 

That,  in  the  near  approaching  strife, 

Each  brute  might  make  his  fight  for  life. 

Too  well  I  knew  that  lean  horde's  way, 

Their  rush,  their  rage,  their  fangs'  keen  play; 

The  North's  gaunt  cruel  demons,  they. 

The  shadows  thicken  thro'  the  glades, 
Dark  stealthy  forms  move  'mid  the  shades, 
My  dogs  stand  bristling  in  the  fore 
Growling  defiance  at  two  score 
Of  their  wild  enemies,  whose  cry, 
As  now  they  circle  closer  by, 
Invites  to  onset,  and  to  die. 

My  rifle  spake,  a  wounded  brute 
Sprang  forward,  and  in  near  pursuit 
His  fellows  close  still  closer  round, 
Though  oft  my  aim  its  victim  found 

[35} 


THE  AGE   OF  GOLD 

Ere  they  in  furious  raging  might 

Came  to  engage  the  dogs  in  fight. 

The  leaden  messengers  sped  fast 

And,  when  the  conflict's  height  had  passed, 

When  I  had  stemmed  the  fierce  attack, 

Refilled  my  rifle  and  forced  them  back, 

I  came  to  learn  the  havoc  done; 

But  one  survived — my  favored  one — 

Borne  down  by  numbers,  yet  at  bay 

Where  he  had  met  their  fanged  array, 

The  noble  Captain  wounded  lay. 

With  nerveless  touch  I  sought  to  quench 
His  gory  wounds'  fast  flowing  drench 
And  ministered  with  trembling  hand 
The  crude  surgery  at  my  command. 
Then  lifting  him  up  I  bore  him  back 
To  where  I  had  left  the  sled  and  pack, 
To  kindle  a  blaze  and  soon  prepare 
The  fleshy  viands  of  our  fare. 
All  through  the  night  the  prowlers'  ire 
Would  rouse  me  up  to  feed  the  fire 
And  watch,  lest  its  bright  flame  expire. 

[36] 


<fHE   <fALE   OF   <fHE   MIDAS  MINE 

At  length  the  breaking  light  of  day 
Disclosed  the  scene  of  bloody  fray, 
Then,  with  disheartened  creeping  pace, 
I  turned,  reluctant,  to  retrace 
My  way  to  that  far  distant  door 
Beyond  the  barren's  wind-swept  floor. 
My  wounded  dog  I  needs  must  bind 
Upon  the  sledge  and  drag  behind, 
For  he,  my  friend  in  time  of  need 
I  felt  deserved  such  kindly  deed, 
And  if,  at  length  through  days  of  pain 
I  won  across  that  frosty  plain, 
One  loyal  friend,  should  share  my  gain. 

How  I  yearned  then  those  of  manly  worth 
Who  were  left  behind  in  that  cleft  of  earth, 
For  night  brought  dark  foreboding's  brood, 
Soon  there  would  be  a  dearth  of  food, 
And  Death's  numb  lethargy  would  steal 
When  lack  of  food  my  fate  could  seal. 
Though  all  my  hunter-craft  was  plied, 
In  vain  I  scoured  the  moorland  wide, 
In  vain  its  every  art  was  tried. 

[37} 


<fHE  AGE   OF   GOLD 

How  I  staggered  on  with  feeble  strength 

To  find  that  cabin  door  at  length, 

I  ne'er  shall  know;  an  age  it  seems 

I  groped  through  weird  phantastic  dreams. 

Processions  strange  stalked  through  my  mind, 

For  oft  the  dead  comrades  left  behind, 

With  the  stranger  from  his  pallet  low, 

Hovered  where  e'er  I  turned  to  go, 

Or  lurked  at  night  with  cautious  stealth 

To  filch  my  dream-amassed  wealth. 

There  in  the  cabin,  my  dog  and  I 
Dwelt  till  the  winter  passed  us  by, 
Then  in  the  Spring  one  day  we  passed 
Southward  over  the  hills  at  last 
To  where  the  Porcupine's  current  free 
Bore  us  on  toward  the  Behring  Sea. 
At  the  Yukon's  side  we  met  the  throng 
Who  sang  of  the  Klondyke's  siren-song; 
And  here  we  wait — but  the  time  is  long." 


[3*1 


<fHE   <?ALE   OF   <fHE   MIDAS  MINE 

The  tale  is  told,  each  listener  goes 
To  seek  a  welcome  night's  repose; 
The  dying  flames  expiring  shed 
A  softened  glow  and  halo  red 
Upon  the  forms  recumbent  round, 
Faint  far  and  sweet,  each  nature-sound 
With  slumbrous  melodies  abound; 
The  white  owl's  cadent,  plaintive  note 
Sounds  soft  and  low  in  copse  remote ; 
From  the  river's  distant  moon-lit  shore 
The  lone  loon's  voice  comes  trembling  o'er; 
South  passaging  wild  fowl  clamorous  fly, 
A  wolf  gives  long  drawn,  mournful  cry, 
The  young  moon  sinks  behind  the  hill, 
The  embers  die — then  all,  is  still. 


[39} 


SONGS  OF  THE  ELDORADO 

Dramatis  Personse,  Argonauts 
Scene,  Camp  Fire;  Place,  Pelly  Lakes 

What  rhymester,  ho, 

Attune  thy  harp, 

Let  melody  o'erflow, 

Display  thy  skill  in  rhythmic  trill, 

And  once  begun  the  gamut  run 

Through  flat  and  sharp, 

Nor  need  to  fear  among  those  here 

A  critic's  carp 

In  censurous  ruth" ;   thus  heard  the  youth 

To  whom  addressed; 

To  drive  away  with  simple  lay 

Their  souls'  unrest, 

He  sang  forsooth  a  song  of  truth 

And  gave  his  best; 

A  ballad  old,  one  oft  retold 

To  maiden  prest 

In  raptured  thrill  and  mutual  will 

To  lover's  breast,  'twas  thus  expressed: 


ODE  TO  THE  KING 

Pay  thou  thy  tribute  feal  to  Love,  the  King, 
Whose  minions  fan  the  passioned  heart  aglow 
And  bid  us  quaff  existence  from  that  spring 
Whence  gushing  forth,  the  soul's  deep  currents  flow. 

In  glorious  golden  sunshine  from  above, 
With  every  clinging  atom  'neath  the  sun, 
Affinity  proclaims  the  reign  of  Love 
Existent  ere  our  mortal  round  begun. 

Obedient  to  great  Nature's  high  behest, 
Primeval  man's  first  instinct  was  to  mate, 
And  all  the  peopled  earth  doth  now  attest 
How  near  that  sacred  law  fits  his  estate. 

Then  live  thy  day  to  Life's  in  tenser  swing, 
Scorn  not  Emotion's  quickened  pulse  and  thrill, 
Unselfish  tribute  ever  pay  to  Love,  the  King, 

Till  death  at  last  thy  beating  heart  shall  still. 

*     *     *     * 

All  give  acclaim,  one  asks  him  name 
An'  he  could  mention, 


<fHE  AGE   OF  GOLD 

Maids  who'd  believed  to  be  deceived 

By  his  intention. 

The  jest  he  heard  but  gave  word 

Of  his  displeasure, 

When  Grey-beard  spoke,  "But  fools  do  joke 

To  such  a  measure. 
Of  loftiest  blend,  my  youthful  friend, 
'Twas  well  conceived, 
And  shows  thy  leisure 
To  be  but  spent  with  right  intent 
To  garner  treasure. 
It  is  our  joy  to  such  employ 
Thy  talents  tend, 
All  here  were  grieved,  be  it  believed, 

To  hear  its  end. 
We  would,  my  boy,  of  such  alloy 
Have  yet  another, 
And  homage  rend ;  let  all  attend 
Our  minstrel  brother." 
He  told  of  dream,  of  fond  esteem 
By  all  partaken 
Of  mother- word  when  mem'ry  stirred 

Hearts  to  awaken. 


I  DREAMED  A  DREAM 

I  dreamed  a  dream  in  Sleepyland 
Of  a  time  in  the  long  ago, 
When  I  knew  a  Mother's  loving  hand 
As  she  rocked  me  to  and  fro. 

Again  I  felt  her  fondly  press 
My  childish  form  close  to  her  heart, 
And  the  soft  touch  of  her  lips'  caress 
Bade  the  tears  of  Dreamland  start. 

I  heard  once  more  the  lullaby 
As  she  soothed  my  troubled  rest, 
I  heard  her  sad  and  gentle  sigh 
As  I  nestled  to  her  breast. 

Softly  and  low,  came  once  again 
The  age-old  and  harmonious  strain 
Of  that  nurture-melody  of  men, 
Our  childhood's  first  divine  refrain. 


[43} 


<?HE  AGE   OF  GOLD 

Song 

"Hush,  my  precious,  Mother  holds  thee, 
Evil  cannot  reach  thee  here, 
Slumber  sweet  one,  she  enfolds  thee, 
Naught  can  harm  while  she  is  near. 

Mother's  care  will  ever  yield  thee 
Safe  protection  through  the  night, 
Mother's  love  will  ever  shield  thee, 
Ever  guide  thee  toward  the  right. 

Rest,  my  child,  thine  eyelids  cumber, 
All  my  love  and  life  is  thine, 
Rest  my  babe,  in  peaceful  slumber 
While  thy  Mother's  arms  entwine." 

Happier,  golden  other  days 
Ere  worldly  lesson  we  were  taught, 
Life  seemed  then  a  hymn  of  praise 
Each  hour  with  a  pleasure  fraught. 


[44] 


/  DREAMED  A  DREAM 

Time  can  ne'er  efface  nor  sever 
Treasured  memories  which  lie 
Near  the  place  of  Sleepland,  ever 
Sounding  Childhood's  lullaby. 

*     *     *     * 

All  quiet  was  the  company 

When  he  had  done; 

'Twas  well  approved,  for  near  removed 

As  if  in  revery, 

Stood  more  than  one 

Who  sought  to  hide  from  gaze  aside 

And  there  shed  furtively, 

The  tears  it  won. 

At  length  spake  he  to  whom  age  gave  priority, 
"  'Tis  true  my  son, 
And  he  who  hears  it  not 
In  youth's  first  hour 
Nor  learns  its  dear  precept 
Within  Affection's  bower, 
Knows  lonelier,  sadder  lot 
Than  he  who  there  has  slept  and  blossoming  has  kept, 

Life's  garden  spot. 


[45} 


<?HE  AGE  OF  GOLD 

How  e'er  Age  dull  the  ear  that  melody  rings  clear, 
Its  music  Memory  quickens,   as  round  us  trouble 

thickens, 
And  he  has  ne'er  forgot,  though  sorrows  fain  would 

blot 

That  song,  to  childhood  dear." 
Thus  glides  along  with  feast  of  song, 

The  night's  rehearsal, 
Their  plaudits  rang  when  next  he  sang 

Of  Wrong's  reversal. 


[46} 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  HANGMAN 

Hark  to  the  plaint  a  hangman  sang 

As  he  went  his  fellow  man  to  hang, 

As  he  passed  the  fresh  grave  yawning  nigh 

And  mounted  the  steps  to  the  scaffold  high. 

"This  retribution  does  custom  ordain, 
'Vengeance  is  Mine,'  runs  the  old  refrain, 
A  life  for  a  life  must  right  the  wrong 
And  sate  the  souls  of  a  morbid  throng. 

.    .       •        •    V  .      '  ;       . 

To  erring  humanity,  pity  is  dead, 
Hate  and  hypocrisy  here  are  wed, 
Here  Justice  sanctions  a  cruel  deed 
In  the  plea  of  conserving  social  need. 

Who  gives  the  right  to  the  many  to  slay 
Which  if  one  may  do  he  shall  forfeit  pay4? 
Ah,  'tis  cheaper  to  hang  than  imprison  removed, 
And  thus  is  the  shameful  deed  approved. 

But  is  murder  more  murder  when  done  by  stealth 
Than  when  done  by  the  jackals  of  Commonwealth; 

[47} 


<?HE  AGE   OF  GOLD 

Has  the  Law  done  aught  to  cleanse  the  stain 
When  dust  unto  dust  has  returned  again? 

The  weak  fall  prey  unto  the  strong, 
Perverted  from  Right  they  stray  to  Wrong, 
Nor  stretches  a  friendly  hand  to  save 
Ere  doomsday  dawns  at  the  gallows-grave. 

Of  a  morbid  malice  springs  the  lust 
For  life  of  one  who  betrays  his  trust, 
And  destroying  life  they  do  but  feed 
A  demon  of  vengeful  Passion's  breed. 

Will  time  ne'er  come  when  man  must  know 
That  deeds  like  this  will  future  show 
To  mortal  minds  a  savage  crime 
Born  of  a  dark  and  savage  time? 

Too  long  has  this  fell  phantasmal  blight, 
This  creed  that  two  wrongs  will  make  one  right, 
This  brute-survival  of  darker  age, 
Sullied  a  world's  enlightened  page. 


<?HE  LAT  OF  <?HE  HANGMAN 

Hate  and  Revenge,  not  social  need, 
These  are  the  motives  base  which  speed 
Misguided  mortality  to  the  noose 
To  cheapen  life  with  a  gross  abuse." 

This  was  the  plaint  the  hangman  sang, 
As  he  went  his  fellow  man  to  hang, 
His  creature-kind,  who  slew  a  friend 
And  thus  came  there  to  untimely  end. 

Soliloquy 

Let  him  invoke,  who  dares, 
The  fickle  mob's  rebuff, 
The  shackle  Custom  wears 
Galls  yet  not  enough. 

Untold  centuries  has  mankind 
Worn  this  brutal  fetter, 
Tradition  pictures  Justice  blind; 
Grows  she  yet  the  better? 

Has  our  vaunted  learning  brought 
Creed  of  peace  sublime, 

[49} 


<?HE  AGE  OF  GOLD 

Has  wisdom  of  all  ages  taught 
What  leads  men  to  crime? 

Hear  the  pious  Christian  chant 
Of  Mercy,  Love  and  Charity; 
How  act  they  who  sound  its  cant ; 
Deeds  show  a  disparity. 

"May  ours  be  the  nobler  action 
To  bequeath  the  coming  race 
With  this  kindly  benefaction: 
Not  to  know  a  hangman's  face." 


Note — 


On  January  20,  1903,  two  men  were  executed  in  the  prison 
yard  at  Dawson,  Y.  Ty.,  in  the  presence  of  two  hundred  and 
fifty  invited  guests.  Both  of  these  men  were  present  at  Dawson 
less  than  a  twelvemonth  before  at  the  time  of  the  execution  of 
another  murderer,  the  circumstances  of  the  crimes  in  both  cases 
being  analagous. 

In  the  conviction  that  capital  punishment  does  not  deter 
crime,  I  have  endeavored  to  voice,  in  the  "Lay  of  the  Hang 
man'  and  his  "Soliloquy"  something  of  the  underlying  motive 
which  I  believe  sends  human  beings  to  the  gallows. 

— Author. 


[50] 


<fHE  LAX  OF  <?HE  HANGMAN 
Discussion 

This  legal  sin,  long,  long  has  been 

Law's  dear  reproof, 

Whilst  Custom  strong  protects  the  wrong, 

Beneath  her  roof. 

Who  would  decry  or  earnest  try 

To  combat  Error, 

Will  hear  the  shout  of  thoughtless  lout 

Whose  mental  mirror 

Reflects  a  mind  to  reason  blind; 

Says  the  indifferent  hearer: 

"Why  be  alarmed,  'tis  another's  harmed, 

The  need's  not  vital, 

Until  the  law  our  necks  can  draw 

In  such  requital. 

True  lives  were  wrung  and  some  have  swung 

Who  knew  no  guilt, 

But  all  must  die;  what  need  to  cry 

For  milk  that's  spilt, 

Or  thus  point  out  and  seek  to  flout 

With  useless  chatter, 

The  sacred  right  of  Strength  and  Might; 

So  ends  the  matter." 


THE  AGE  OF  GOLD 

The  songster  sang  anew 
At  their  discussion's  end, 
And  their  attention  drew 
To  this  symphonic  blend. 


[52} 


WONDER   SONG 

I  sometimes  wonder  why, 

As  time  goes  fleeting  by, 

We  suffer  Disappointment's  pain, 

Through  lingering  years  toil  on  in  vain 

And  failing,  rise  to  hope  again; 

Hope  does  not  die, 

I  wonder  why. 

I  wonder  sometimes  where 
'Mid  poignant  pain  and  care, 
The  buoyant  souls  of  womankind 
Their  wealth  of  love  and  wisdom  find — 
The  laurel  wreaths  they  bring  and  bind, 
And  blossoms  fair,  where, 
I  wonder  where. 

Sometimes  I  wonder  when, 

In  peace  united,  men 

The  seeds  of  fellowship  will  sow 

Along  the  pathway  each  must  go; 

Joyous  the  flowers  of  Love  will  glow 

In  fields  Fraternal  then; 

Ah  when,  I  wonder  when. 

•   [53] 


<?HE  AGE   OF  GOLD 

Refrain 

Human  hearts  to  passion  strung 
Eternal  songs  of  hope  have  sung, 
Eternal  must  their  forces  play 
Till  human  hearts  to  dust  decay. 


Again  a  silence  at  its  close 
As  if  perchance  each  hearer  knows 
Some  soul-deep  truth  lies  under, 
As  if  responsive  hearts  had  heard 
An  echo  to  its  every  word; 
Unheeded  oft  'midst  storm  and  stress, 
Timed  to  their  pulsing  eagerness, 
Yet  now  they  hear — and  wonder. 

"Arouse  the  firelog,  lads,  the  light 
Will  lend  its  cheer  as  I  recite 
To  you  a  song  I  one  time  learned 
When  Fancy's  mood  in  Autumn  turned 
To  a  secluded  woodland  dell 
Wherein,  belated  song-birds  tell 
Of  happier  hours,  when  fields  were  green 
And  now  are  loth  to  leave  the  scene." 

is*} 


SONG  OF  A  FOREST  BIRD  IN  AUTUMN 

A  WOOD-RAMBLER'S  FANCY 

I  strolled  one  day  through  forest  aisle 
When  Autumn  leaves  were  falling, 
When  chickadees,  with  artless  guile 
Their  cheery  chant  were  calling. 

I  saw  the  thrifty  squirrel  hoard 
The  beech  nut  in  the  hollow  tree, 
I  found  the  bole  wherein  was  stored 
The  summer's  labor  of  the  bee. 

I  lay  among  the  drifted  leaves 
Deep  in  a  shadowy  thicket's  gloom, 
And  learned  there  how  the  spider  weaves 
At  faery,  gossameric  loom. 

Then  from  an  elm  branch  'mid  the  wood 
I  spied  a  bird-nest's  pendent  bow, 
Nearby  a  ruffled  songster  stood 
As  though  distraught  with  woe. 

[55] 


<?HE  AGE  OF  GOLD 

To  fancy  lulled,  a  chirping  note, 
Half  dreaming,  half  awake,  I  heard, 
Thus  ran  the  lay  of  feathered  throat — 
Autumnal  song  of  forest  bird. 

SONG 
Key  C  Minor 

"Oh  now  must  we  go  ere  the  winds  of  winter  blow, 
Ere  the  frost's  cold  breath  grows  cutting,  sere  and 

keen, 
Soon  the  boughs  we  used  to  know  will  lie  buried  in 

snow, 

Ah  me !    they  once  were  leafy,  fair  and  green. 
My  fledglings  have  flown — the  home  nest  is  lone, 
All  the  earth  seems  drear  and  desolate  and  gray, 
Ere  a  thistledown  had  blown — ere  an  autumn  leaf 

had  shown 
They  were  eager  to  take  wing  and  fly  away. 

"There  were,  flowers  in  the  springtime  and  fields  of 

fragrant  hay, 
There  were  buttercups  and  daisies  in  the  June, 

[56] 


SONG   OF  A  FORES?  BIRD  IN  AUTUMN 

And  my  mate  at  break  of  day  sang  each  morn  his 

carol-lay, 

Sang  the  songs  of  love,  rehearsed  at  honeymoon, 
Here  we  reared  our  nestling-brood,  happy  'mid  the 

solitude, 

Naught  of  grief  e'er  came  to  break  upon  our  rest, 
But,  alas,  'tis  nature's  way — life  is  not  alone  of 

May, 
Chill  November's  frost  has  found  an  empty  nest. 

In  Major  Key 

"Hark,  an  answering  note  I  hear,  'tis  my  mate-bird 
hov'ring  near, 

He  will  come  to  me  ere  evening  shadows  fall, 

Bid  my  heart  to  be  of  cheer,  whisper,  that  another 
year, 

We  shall  nest  once  more  upon  the  elm  tree  tall. 

On  the  morrow's  morn  we'll  fly,  far  to  sunny  south 
ern  sky, 

There  to  warble  forth  idyllic  life's  refrain, 

Peaceful  Summer  now  is  by,  Autumn  comes,  and 
with  a  sigh, 

We  must  flit  away,  till  Spring  shall  come  again." 

[57] 


<fHE  AGE   OF  GOLD 
Argument 

'Tis  true  of  man,  no  less  than  these 
Poor  feathered  creatures  of  the  trees. 
Youth  hastens  ever  from  the  fold 
Whose  shelter  safe  from  storm  would  hold. 
As,  in  the  evening  of  her  days 
She  marks  them  go  their  several  ways, 
The  mother-heart  in  longing  cries 
For  those  once  held  by  tend' rest  ties. 
They,  too,  were  eager  for  the  flight, 
And  now,  when  shadows  of  the  night 
Come  stealing  down  the  lane  of  life, 
Weary  and  worn  with  care  and  strife, 
She  calls  to  mind  the  fairer  Spring 
When  cradle  songs  she  loved  to  sing 
And  budding  hope  bade  hearts  be  gay — 
Sighs,  are  of  Autumn, — song,  of  May. 
*       *       *       * 

"So  ye  would  learn  of  men  who  swing 
A  miner's  pick  against  the  breast 
Which  hides  the  secret  of  their  quest; 
Learn  of  their  ways,  the  hopes  that  spring 


SONG  OF  A  FORES?  BIRD  IN  AUTUMN 

As  forth  the  treasured  gold  they  bring 
From  where  'twas  held  in  Nature's  chest. 

"Is  it  but  greed,  to  grasp,  to  hold; 
What  joys  their  task,  and  do  they  sing 
Nor  reck  of  that  grim  reaping  Thing 
Which  garners  Mankind  to  its  fold^  " 
In  reverence  was  bowed  each  head, 
He  spake  in  tribute  to  the  dead. 


[59] 


THE  PARTING 

A  MINER'S  REQUIEM 

Gather  around,  ye  comrade-friends 
Who  knew  this  form  in  life, 
For  thus,  each  earthly  journey  ends, 
Thus  Peace  o'ertaketh  Strife. 

Ye  knew  him  well  who  sleepeth  there, 
To  each,  he  was  a  brother, 
And  gave  with  generous  hand,  his  share, 
To  help  sustain  another. 

In  nobler  truth  his  loyal  heart 

To  Honor  gave  devotion, 

Nor  deemed  it  less  than  Manhood's  part 

To  yield  that  heart's  emotion. 

To  fellow  men  in  hour  of  need, 
His  roof-tree  gave  protection, 
And  every  kindly  thought  and  deed 
Found  purpose  and  direction. 

[do] 


THE  PARKING 

This  parting  hour  cements  the  bond 
Life's  fellowship  attending, 
For  none  may  know,  if  bourne  beyond 
Or  be  this  grave,  the  ending. 

'Sleep,  Thou  who  were  the  salt  of  earth, 
Too  soon  converge  our  ways, 
And  we  who  honor  now  thy  worth, 
Shall  no  more  sound  thy  praise." 


ANTHEM 

LAST     HOPE 

Pilgrim,  thou  journeyest  soon  o'er  the  plain, 
Brief  is  the  hour  of  thy  joy  and  thy  pain, 
Thou  meetest  at  Morn  whom  Noontide  shall  part, 
And  alone,  at  the  Even,  must  sorrow  thy  heart. 

Eternal  the  hope  whose  abode  is  thy  breast, 
Its  breath  is  thy  prayer  as  thou  turnest  to  rest, 
And  the  Shore  of  the  Shadow  illumined  shall  be, 
One  star  shineth  ever,  across  the  dark  sea. 

Refrain 

Flower  of  a  soul  burdened  with  care, 
Near  to  the  Goal  riseth  thy  prayer, 
JTis  all  thy  part  onward  to  guide, 
Deep  in  the  heart  alway  abide. 


[62} 


SOLACE 

Still  Hope  remains  within  the  primal  jar 
Though  other  good  gifts  wing  their  way  afar; 
The  noblest  one  clung  to  Pandora's  urn, 
Endowed  in  trust  to  womankind  in  turn 
And  sung  of  hearts  whose  simple  lay  to  learn, 
Made  loyal  love  endure  through  all  the  years, 
To  smooth  our  path  adown  this  vale  of  tears. 

Oft  comes  the  hour  in  every  human  life 
When,  weary  or  despondent  of  its  ceaseless  strife, 
Man  in  endeavor  seems  the  burrowing  mole, 
Of  tangled  threads  the  fabric  of  the  whole, 
And  soul  must  seek  its  solace  of  a  kindred  soul, 
Where  hearth  and  home  and  all  the  sheltered  throng, 
Woo  to  forgetfulness  with  gladdening  Hope's  heart 
song. 

Life's  tempest-troubled  voyager  finds  there  the  friend 
To  cheer,  encourage,  comfort,  and  to  lend 
Affection's  bright  benign  transfiguring  light, 


<fHE  AGE   OF  GOLD 

A  beacon-ray  athwart  its  shadowy  night 
To  guide  him  safe  when  darkness  dims  the  sight. 
Drear,  drear  the  journey  to  that  vague  Beyond, 
Uncheered  by  some  dear  haven's  radiance  fond. 

ThJ  ambrosial  nectared  dew  of  childhood's  kiss, 
The  place  of  joy  serene  and  purest  bliss, 
Where  prattling  innocence  and  artless  baby  mirth 
The  heart  refreshens,  and  bids  us  be  its  worth, 
Gives  of  Elysian  hour,  all,  all,  of  earth. 
Who  knows  it  not  upon  this  mortal  round 
Escheated  lives,  and  dying,  longs  the  sound. 

And  though  one  once  held  close  within  the  bower, 
Whose  presence  made  the  song  of  evening  hour, 
Sleeps  now  beneath  a  grassy,  dew-kissed  mound 
Where  blossoms  fair  bend  o'er  the  hallowed  ground, 
Divinely  tender  echoing  memories  still  resound, 
Like  sacred  song  through  dim  cathedral  aisle; 
And  we — are  better — for  that  life  the  while. 


{64} 


SOLACE 

Be  then  our  day  whate'er  of  joy  bereft, 

Though  from  our  side  the  treasured  one  be  cleft, 

Though  Fate  conspire  to  wrest  all  we  hold  dear, 

The  night  will  pass,  the  day  fall  fair  and  clear 

If  there  but  be  one  fellow  creature  near, 

To  sound  the  song,  from  heart  of  simple  grace, 

Of  eld,  in  trust  bequeathed,  to  women  of  the  race. 


[65} 


THE  WRECK  OF  THE  ISLANDER 

The  harbor  lights  in  twinkling  sport 

Dance  gaily  on  each  wavelet's  crest, 

As  the  staunch  ship  Islander  leaves  port, 

Beneath  the  mountain's  lea 

Which  nevermore  will  see 

The  ripples  from  her  breast. 

Mirth  and  Music,  Youth  and  Song, 

Assemble  in  her  social  hall, 

For  Hope  has  promised  that  ere  long 

Each  one  again  will  stand 

On  that  dear  native  strand 

From  which  their  loved  ones  call. 

Long  separate,  to  toil  enured, 
They  braved  the  Northern  night, 
And  from  the  womb  of  earth  secured 
Treasure  they  had  sought, 
To  turn  in  home-land  thought 
Where  welcome  would  delight. 


[66] 


<fHE    WRECK    OF   ^HE    ISLANDER 

Straight  on  her  charted  course 

She  skims  the  narrow  strait, 

As  by  her  engines  pressured  force, 

Propelling  swift  ahead, 

On  through  the  dark  she  sped 

For  the  channel's  southern  gate. 

Dank  fogs  descend,  an  icy  breath 
Enwraps  the  inland  sound, 
To  shelter  in  its  shadow  Death, 
For  glacial  offspring  lay 
Thick-strewn  about  the  bay, 
And  ragged  reefs  abound. 

The  far-spent  night  in  slumber  holds 

The  gallant  and  the  fair, 

More  dense  seem  now  the  vapor-folds 

Beyond  the  vessel's  prow, 

Yet  onward  still  they  plow, 

Nor  marked  Death  biding  there. 

A  crash — an  awful  moment's  lull, 
And,  starting  from  their  midnight  sleep 


THE  AGE   OF  GOLD 

They  seethe  about  the  settling  hull 
In  terror  and  despair, 
Confusion's  panic  everywhere, 
The  black  mist's  pall  across  the  deep. 

An  hundred  souls  their  slumber  keep, 
An  hundred  noble  hearts  found  rest; 
On  distant  strands  there  watch  and  weep 
Expectant  ones,  that  ne'er  will  see 
The  Islander,  in  the  harbor  lea, 
Nor  the  ripples  from  her  breast. 


[68} 


AURORA  COMES 

Latitude  65  North.     Spectator,  a  Miner. 

Time :    Night. 
Above 

Mark  now  yon  rising  glow,  like  moonbeam  pale, 
Unfolding  from  the  zenith's  northward  height; 
Sweeping  in  queenly  splendor  thro'  the  vale 
Come  marshalled  minions  from  the  realm  of  light. 

Forth  from  the  vast  abyss  unkenned  of  man, 
Their  mystic  motion  mounts  the  mazy  slope, 
Glimpsing  alembic  alchemy  of  Nature's  plan 
To  awe  our  finite  sense  of  cosmic  scope. 

Below 

.   s 

Vain  foolish  mortals  creep  from  hill  to  hill, 
Ant-like  Ambition  bids  them  plan  and  ply 
From  golden  granary  to  store  a  larder-till, 
As  yawns  the  deep-digged  grave  wherein  they  lie. 

"Must  mean  employ  thus  round  this  span  of  life, 
Tired  children  hastening  to  a  mould' ring  bed, 
Why  waste  thy  precious  hour  in  gainful  strife, 
Forgotten  myriads  of  thy  kind,  rest — with  the  dead." 

{69} 


<fHE  AGE   OF  GOLD 
Pageant 


Heralds  a  tremulous  blush,  the  Northern  light, 
In  mantling,  faint,  swift-mounting  upward  flight; 
As  o'er  the  starry  meadow  glides  the  beam 
High  heaven's  hollows  pulsate  with  its  gleam; 
Lambent  and  waving  draperies  band  the  upper  night, 
Dim,  ray-evolving  shapes  grow  spectral  bright, 
Through  lofty  regions  glowing  banners  stream, 
In  luminous  arch  the  blended  colors  teem, 
Splendors  dissolve  into  ethereal  space 
And  shining  legions  speed  to  fill  their  place, 
Weaving  fantastic  garlands  high  in  air 
As  forth  and  back  the  restless  currents  fare. 

Now  lost  beneath  the  horizon's  obscuring  plane, 
Commingling  now  with  others  of  the  train, 
Forming,  reforming,  elusive,  changeful  ever, 
Shifting  in  bright  and  beauteous  endeavor, 
Across  the  vaulted,  starlit  void  it  goes, 
Nor  dwells  a  single  moment  in  repose, 
Until  at  length,  as  wearied  of  the  rout, 
The  glow  and  glory  is  diffused  about 

[70] 


AURORA    COMES 

To  fade,  in  pale  refulgence,  to  the  Northern  sky, 
As  far  the  iridescent  phantom-creatures  fly 
Who  pay  attendant  homage  on  that  scene, 
Where  flits  the  fair  Aurora — Northland  Queen. 


And  now,  their  entertainment  done, 
All  hie  to  rest,  till  rising  sun, 
In  gilded  glint  and  ruffled  wake, 
Touches  the  bosom  of  the  lake ; 
Till  daybreak's  gentle  breezes  clasp 
The  palpitating  quaken-asp, 
And  carol-chants  awake  a  world 
Which  night  in  silent  shadow  furl'd. 


JOURNEYING 

Hour  and  Place 

Declines  the  day,  and  once  again  the  west 

In  purpling  panoply  of  cloud,  deep  crimson  drest, 

Blends  with  its  dying  glory,  high  horizon  line 

In  profile  of  bold  mountain  scarp,  and  the  dark  pine. 

Where  swift  sibilant  eddies  of  the  river  lave 
A  pebbly  beach  and  bank,  where  tall  forest  gave 
Back  to  the  stream  its  tinted  outline  in  the  light, 
Again  our  voyagers  have  paused  for  night. 

Freed  from  their  craft's  confine,  ease-postured  each, 
Outstretched  they  lie,  their  couch  the  mossy  green, 
Save  comrade-three,  who  from  the  nearby  reach, 
In  raptured  contemplation,  view  the  scene. 

Whom  of  mankind,  nor  once  again  has  heard 
That  loud  primeval  nature-cry  within  his  breast, 
Which  some  untrod  and  virgin  wilderness  has  stirred 
To  ancient  heritage  of  longing  and  unrest. 


JQUKffBTING 

Far  from  the  social  trammel  of  convention's 

screed, 

Far  from  the  sodden  course  of  urban  strife, 
The  souls  of  men  return,  like  bondsmen  freed, 
To  joy  in  first  unfettered  ways  of  life. 

Boundless  the  sea  Ambition's  prow  would  cleave, 
Before,  an  Empire's  hoarded  wealth  awaits  the  hand 
That  in  its  strength  the  savage  wilds  may  reave, 
And  richly  recompense  their  Argonautic  band. 

Soon  o'er  the  verdured  vale  deep  shadows  fall, 
The  forest's  image  now  has  sunk  from  sight, 
And  from  the  fire  log  friendly  voices  call 
The  three,  to  join  the  circle  by  its  light. 

Now  as  they  list,  a  theme  of  love  unfolds 
Which  centuried  Summer's  eve  heard  oft  repeat, 
As  youth's  enfolding  clasp  to  its  mood  moulds 
A  maiden  heart,  'mid  ecstasies  complete. 


[73] 


Song 

HEARTSEASE 

Heart  of  my  heart,  my  star-eyed  lass 

Dear  maid, 
Love  came  and  bade  us  love  confess, 

All  unafraid. 

Thine  was  the  trusting  soul  I  sought 

Afar  and  wide, 
Predestined  fate  at  last  has  brought 

Me  to  thy  side. 

To  touch  thy  lip,  to  clasp  thy  form, 

Were  bliss  sublime, 
Mine  arms  shall  shelter  thee  from  storm 

For  all  life's  time. 

Come  thou  to  claim  protection  there 

Whate'er  befall, 
'Twill  bring  forgetfulness  from  care 

Which  troubleth  all. 


[74} 


HEARTSEASE 

Be  fortune  kind  or  be  our  state 

The  humbler  poor, 
Love's  rose  shall  blossom  by  our  gate, 

And  aye  endure. 

Soul  of  my  soul,  my  queenly  lass, 

Dear  maid, 
Cling  alway  close  in  tenderness, 

And  unafraid. 


Laudation  sped  its  echo  and  again  he  gave 
Of  re  very5  s  solicitude  for  absent  wife, 
Nor  knew  they  she  returned  —  but  to  the  grave, 
Whose  sombre  depth  hid  all  his  joy  in  life. 


{75} 


Song 

THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

The  toiler  turns  from  round  of  cares 

At  evening  hour, 
And  to  the  shrine  of  love  repairs; 

His  cottage  bower. 

But  solitude  has  claimed  the  place 

Of  joy  and  peace, 
He  greets  no  radiant,  love-lit  face 

Of  heart's  surcease. 

No  voice  of  tend' rest  resonance 
Bespeaks  his  name, 

Nor  lips  in  loving  consonance 
Endearments  frame. 

A  brooding  quietude  pervades 

Each  silent  room, 
As  sunset's  glow  to  shadow  fades 

And  twilight  gloom. 


[76} 


<fHE   SI  LENT  HOUSE 

The  soulful  harpsichord  stands  mute 
Whose  memories  tell, 

Melodious  theme  of  harp  and  lute, 
And  raptured  spell. 

The  cluster' d  petals  she  arrayed 

Within  their  urn, 
Now  in  repinement  droop  and  fade 

For  her  return. 

"Ye  morrows,  hasten  on  thy  way, 

My  soul  hath  fear 
Some  ill  may  aye  prolong  her  stay, 

Would  she  were  here." 


"Good  friends,"  the  speaker  sat  apart, 
That  he  might  there  aloof, 
Be  not  discerned,  for  tears  did  start 
And  pathos  of  the  song  gave  proof. 


[77] 


<?HE  AGE   OF  GOLD 

"An  hour  in  bygone  time  I  mind, 
When  to  my  father's  door  there  came 
A  beggar,  bent  and  aged  and  blind, 
And  wasted  was  his  form,  and  lame. 

'Tis  such  as  he  whose  suppliant  cry 
You  each  have  heard — mayhap  have  spurned, 
But  I,  since  then,  have  ne'er  passed  by, 
Forbearance  from  his  life,  I  learned." 


THE  VAGABOND 

Prologue 

Good  friend,  and  critic  too,  who  would  the  moral 

ask, 
The  tale  is  old,  the  theme  no  merit  and  a  thankless 

task, 
Were  chronicler  presumptuous  of  such  boon  mere  to 

relate 
An  outcast's  sordid  lot,  his  vagrant  course,  his  fate. 

'Tis  but  one  hapless  fellow  creature  broken  on  the 

wheel, 
An  ill-starred  starveling  wretch  ground  'neath  the 

social  heel, 
Who,  in  his  misery,  turned  at  length  to  forage  on 

the  mass 
Whose  greed  for  place  and  power  reduced  him  to  the 

pass. 


[79] 


<?HE  AGE  OF  GOLD 

Shunned  by  the  hurrying  crowd,  despised,  bereft  and 

lone, 

In  lieu  of  bread  he  asked,  life  gave  to  him,  a  stone, 
Nor  how  he  fell,  nor  all  the  cause,  his  weakness  or  his 

need, 
Conspired  what  social  force,  what  laws,  few  passing 

note  or  heed. 

"On,  on  with  pride's  parade,  removed  in  cold  aloof 
ness  far, 

Dinning  the  senseless  rabble-shout,  drag  on  the  Jug- 
gernautic  car 

Whose  mangling  course,  careening  down  the  line, 

Crushes  the  drugged  devotee  who  worships  at  its 
shrine." 

'theme 

A  knock  sounds  at  the  farmhouse  door 
As  night  shades  veil  the  moor; 
Aged  the  man  who  stands  before, 
Asking  the  shelter  of  the  poor. 


[So] 


<fHE    VAGABOND 

The  housewife  hastes  to  lift  the  latch 
And  bids  the  stranger  enter  there, 
Invites  him  rest  beneath  their  thatch, 
And  of  their  provender  to  share. 

"What  dost  thou  here,"  his  host  began 
When  their  repast  was  o'er, 
"What  fate  compels  thee  beg,  good  man, 
When  thou  art  past  three  score." 

A  sigh,  in  seeming  from  the  soul, 
Came,  ere  to  them  he  did  unfold 
His  story,  nor  paused  ere  the  whole 
Of  his  sad  history  had  told. 

"An  hour  agone  I  craved  a  crust, 
Craved  shelter  for  the  night, 
My  need  was  great,  and  hunger  must 
Th'  unbidden  guest  invite. 

Some  men  there  be  whose  course  is  run 
To  measured  pulse  and  play, 
Yet  others,  ere  the  goal  be  won 
Grow  wearied  of  its  way. 


<fHE  AGE   OF  GOLD 

In  youth  I  dwelt  'mid  luxuried  ease 
In  wealth's  attire  arrayed, 
Nor  knew  want's  breath  or  bitter  breeze, 
As  pleasured  paths  I  strayed. 

Fair  was  the  world  and  filled  with  song, 
Friends  came  from  far  and  near, 
And  gay  and  happy  was  the  throng, 
That  gathered  round  my  cheer. 

But  brief  the  season  of  that  state 
For,  as  adversity  drew  round, 
My  one-time  friends  forsook  the  gate, 
That  they,  in  opulence,  had  found. 

The  thoroughfare  where  once  I  met 
Extended  hands  in  greeting, 
Held  now  no  welcome,  but  regret 
That  chance  had  caused  the  meeting. 

Sadly  I  roamed  the  city's  streets, 
To  find  in  labor's  mart 
The  menial  task  that  soon  escheats 
Life's  joy,  to  penured  part. 

[82} 


THE    VAGABOND 

Mine  was  the  lot  of  millions  more 
Whose  labor  can  but  gain 
A  pittance,  that  a  day  before 
Will  scarce  serve  to  sustain. 

Unfitted  by  that  earlier  life 
To  battle,  with  success, 
I  was  unequal  to  a  strife 
Waged  with  such  earnestness. 

Dwelling  in  a  tall  tenement, 
Sickness  soon  brought  despair, 
And  starving,  thence  away  I  went 
To  the  great  city's  care. 

Broken  in  spirit,  health  impaired, 
Feeble  and  wan  and  spent, 
I  crept  from  charity,  nor  cared 
Whither  my  steps  were  bent. 

But  that  debasement  left  its  mark, 
For  when  the  friendly  sun  had  set, 
Shamefacedly  I  sought  the  park 
Where  nightly  vagabondage  met. 

[83} 


<?HE  AGE   OF  GOLD 

From  this  to  crime  was  but  a  pace, 
For  many  there  told  of  the  way, 
The  downward  track  few  can  retrace, 
Who  once  seek  social  prey. 

I  learned  'twas  easier  far  to  find 
Support  from  deeds  of  shame, 
And  soon  my  furtive  fellowkind 
Spake  whisperingly  my  name. 

A  felon's  dock — then  weary  years 
The  walls  of  prison  held  me  in, 
And  in  the  silent  cell,  my  tears 
Made  their  atonement  for  my  sin. 

Across  the  world  a  ten-years'  cloud 
Hung  like  a  dark  abysmal  night, 
Ere  freed  at  last  I  was  allowed 
To  feel  the  felon's  blight. 

My  prison  life  had  left  its  stamp, 
Deep  seamed  the  lines  of  care, 
I  looked,  I  was,  a  nomad  tramp 
With  early  whited  hair. 


fHE    VAGABOND 

Decrep't  pre-ag'd,  a  beggar's  cot 
Answered  each  night  my  need, 
And  morning  took  me  from  the  spot 
Where  kindness  cried  'God  speed.' 

Thenceforward  on  I  ceaseless  strayed 
To  hear  men's  curses  hurl'd, 
For  tell-tale  prison  gait  betrayed 
My  secret  to  the  world. 

But  once,  was  one  who  loved  me  well, 
A  queen  in  woman's  grace, 
Nor  yet  to  what  far  depth  I  fell 
Was  banished  quite,  her  face. 

When  first  I  came  to  man's  estate 
She  had  worn  my  circlet-band, 
And  well  I  knew  her  grief  was  great, 
That  I,  resigned  her  hand. 

I  knew  not  then,  she  nobly  sought 
To  bid  me  near  her  stay, 
And  all  her  worldly  wealth  had  brought, 
But  I — had  fled  away. 


<fHE  AGE   OF  GOLD 

I  thought  it  kindness,  chivalry 
Forbade  me  let  her  share 
My  changed  estate's  dull  misery 
And  coarse  and  meanly  fare. 

Yet  through  the  years  that  hopeless  sped, 
Oft  to  my  thought  she  came, 
To  bow  in  bitter  grief,  my  head, 
And  emphasize  my  shame. 

I  saw  her  once  'mid  fashion's  press, 
A  sweet  child  by  her  side, 
In  quest  of  alms  I  touched  her  dress; 
Ah,  could  I  then  have  died. 

She  knew  me  not,  nor  turned  away 
Ere  granting  my  request, 
The  coin  she  gave  till  death  will  stay 
Close-treasured  at  my  breast. 

I  found  her  home,  I  lingered  near, 
And  learned  to  love  the  child, 
And  in  that  presence  fond  and  dear, 
To  fate,  was  reconciled. 
196] 


<fHE    VAGABOND 

Oh,  touch  divine,  a  child's  caress, 
To  yearning  hearts  thy  want  is  pain, 
Soul's  plummet-sound  of  bitterness 
Who  cries  for  thee  in  vain. 

Mistrusting  they  my  good  intent, 
She  roamed  no  more  at  play, 
And  soon  in  sadness,  on  I  went 
Along  that  weary  way. 

Restless,  I've  wandered  here  and  there, 
And  each  succeeding  year, 
I  hail,  in  hope  'twill  bring  me  where 
Peace  bides — upon  the  bier. 

Good  people,  show  me  now  the  bed 
Where  I  may  win  repose — " 
At  morn  the  sleeper's  soul  had  fled, 
His  faring  found  its  close. 


{87} 


LETTERS  FROM  HOME 

Reverie 

A  miner  sits  at  his  cabin  door 

In  the  twilight  of  the  day, 

His  thought  of  that  hour  but  a  year  before 

In  a  quiet  village  far  away 

When  the  maid  he  loved  stood  by  his  side 

And  his  heart  was  glad,  for,  his  promised  bride, 

She  would  linger  there  for  aye  and  for  aye. 

Theirs  was  the  old  sweet  story,  told 

In  the  tender  and  olden  way, 

They  met  and  loved,  would  have  and  hold 

And  yield  to  love's  own  ardent  sway, 

To  voyage  down  the  stream  of  life 

In  hand  together,  man  and  wife, 

To  the  shore  of  its  Stygian  bay. 


[88] 


LEXERS  FROM  HOME 

A  pledge  of  their  plighted  faith  she  wears, 
His  token  of  troth  and  trust, 
The  guerdon  of  her  love  he  bears, 
Dearer  far  than  the  precious  dust 
Which  his  toil  may  win  him  there; 
He  dreams  of  the  day  when  she  will  share 
His  well-earned  wealth,  and  just. 

Oft,  oft  in  the  time  gone  by  since  then 
Has  her  sweet  soft-murmured  "Yes," 
Brought  fleeting  hope  to  his  heart  again 
When  the  gloom  of  the  night  would  press, 
And  dark  despair,  there  ever  near 
Found  banishment  in  memory  dear, 
And  the  thoughts  of  her  caress. 

He  came,  not  in  quest  of  gold  alone — 
Pelf  was  to  him  life's  lesser  part, 
And  love  that  lack  would  soon  atone 
In  wealth  of  one  fond  heart, 
But  duty  called,  and  so  to  win 
Bounty  and  blessing  for  those  of  kin, 
Had  he  sought  the  miner's  mart. 


<fHE  AGE   OF  GOLD 

A  letter  falls  from  his  listless  hand 
And  flutters  unto  the  ground; 
Thus  read  the  message  he  had  scanned : 
"Your  former  sweetheart  now  has  found 
Solacement  for  her  loneliness, 
Tomorrow  in  hymeneal  dress, 

She  hears  her  nuptial  chant  resound." 
*     *     *     * 

The  mist  of  midnight  creeps  along 
The  mountain,  and  hangs  o'er  the  vale 
Whose  tinkling  echoes  tell  the  song 
Of  pack-trains,  toiling  up  the  trail ; 
The  tranquil  beauty  of  the  night 
Recalls  her  face,  with  love  alight, 
Recounts,  in  minor  chord,  the  tale. 


[90] 


THE  QUICKENING 

Memory  whispered  in  the  gloaming, 

"Nomad,  cease  thy  roaming, 

Turn  unto  thy  homing; 

Still  thy  warm  heart  quickens  to  the  thought. 

Need  thou  hast  abated, 

Thirst  for  gold  hast  sated, 

Toil  hath  plenty  mated; 
Seek  thou  they  for  whom  here  thou  hast  wrought. 

"Sweet  the  joys  that  first  thou  tasted 

Ere  on  wayward  way  thou  hasted 

To  a  wanton  world,  and  wasted, 

Thy  first  hour  of  manhood,  careless,  free, 
'Twas  thy  lesson;  learn  another, 
Afar  waits  thy  sad-faced  mother, 
Kindred  name  an  absent  brother, 

Thy  ancestral  hearthstone's  voices  call  to  thee. 


[9'} 


<?HE  AGE   OF  GOLD 

"Long  thy  fortune  thou  hast  ventured 
Unto  fickle  chance  indentured, 
And  tho'  oft  thy  mistress  censured, 
None,  of  thee  hath  heard  complaining; 
Go,  thy  heart  turns  yonder, 
Time  thy  ties  make  fonder 
Wheresoe'er  that  thou  dost  wander, 
Find  again  thy  lov'd  ones,  life  is  waning.3 


[92] 


VOICE  OF  PROMISE 

"They  will  welcome  where  at  parting, 
Tear  dimmed  eyes  saw  thee  depart, 
Where,  like  fount  of  youth  upstarting, 
Welled  affection  from  each  heart. 

"They  will  gather  there  to  meet  thee, 
Father,  mother,  kindred,  all, 
They  will  come  again  to  greet  thee 
From  thy  childhood's  festal  hall. 

"They  will  list  each  one,  nor  weary, 
Grow  of  thine  adventured  tale, 
And  attentive  to  thy  query, 
Of  their  simpler  way,  regale. 

"Vanished  years  that  hour  has  plighted, 
For  they  spared  with  kindly  hand, 
Thee,  as  o'er  the  earth  benighted, 
Strayed  thy  feet  on  foreign  strand." 


[93} 


AU  REVOIR 

I  leave  thee,  comrades,  for  a  time, 

To  journey  there  once  more, 

Where  home-spun  hearts  with  simple  chime, 

Bring  back  the  days  of  yore. 

Our  pact  of  fellowship  well  tried 
Has  proved  thee  loyal  friends, 
Whose  merit,  that  with  honor  vied, 
For  hardship  made  amends. 

The  Winter's  frost,  the  Summer's  sun, 
But  closer  knit  our  ties, 
As  we  together  toiled  and  won 
Beneath  these  Arctic  skies. 

Yet  first  in  thought  will  ever  be 
That  scene  of  curlier  youth, 
The  kindly  and  parental  tree 
Which  sheltered  Love  and  Truth. 


[94} 


AU  RENOIR 

Kind  friends,  adieu,  and  as  we  part 
The  tribute  of  my  tears, 
Must,  from  the  fount  of  friendship  start 
In  memory  of  these  years. 

Answer  in  Echo 

"Comrade,  we  grieve  to  see  thee  go, 
The  parting  hour  gives  pain, 
And  oft,  when  comes  the  night  and  snow, 
We'll  wish  thee  back  again. 

"The  cabin  circle  gath'ring  round 
Will  miss  thy  friendly  face, 
And  as  the  evening  songs  resound 
We'll  wish  thee  in  thy  place. 

"But  when  again  thy  step  shall  turn 
From  thine  far  native  land, 
Thou' It  know  staunch  hearts,  in  welcome  yearn 
To  clasp  once  more,  thine  hand." 


[95] 


THE  RETURN 

Comes  a  stranger  to  the  highway 
Whom  no  neighbor  seeming  knows, 
Questions  none  of  path  or  byway 
And  they  wonder  where  he  goes. 

Pilgrim  he,  but  now  returning 
To  the  scene  which  first  he  knew, 
Where  his  heart  came  ever  yearning, 
As  through  time  its  longing  grew. 

He  has  paused  within  the  distance 
For,  re-echoing  down  the  years, 
Came  a  melody's  soft  insistence 
To  suffuse  his  sight  with  tears. 

Stands  awhile  in  indecision 
Ere  he  strides  along  the  way, 
Straining  with  an  eager  vision 
Where  the  half-hid  steading  lay. 


[96] 


<?HE   RETURN 

Ah,  it  shows — the  home  ancestral 
Where  he  dwelt  in  youthful  hour, 
And  again  Life's  hymn  orchestral 
Sounds  with  rhythmic  sway  and  power. 

Fragrant  were  the  paths  with  flowers 
When  his  childish  feet  there  strayed, 
Through  the  fields  and  woodland  bowers 
Where  he  with  a  brother  played. 

Long  those  halcyon  days  have  vanished, 
Time  has  changed  the  wanderer's  face, 
Twenty  years  he  has  been  banished 
From  that  boyhood's  dwelling  place. 

Yet  in  dreams  he  oft  would  wander, 
As  he  did  in  youth's  first  dawn, 
Through  the  spacious  farmhouse  yonder 
And  adown  the  box-hedged  lawn. 

Now  he  comes  again  to  waken 
Recollection's  quick' ning  train, 
And  remembrance  dear  has  shaken 
Vibrant  reeds  to  tend' rest  pain. 

[97] 


<?HE  AGE   OF  GOLD 

These  were  once  paternal  acres, 
Alien  hands  now  till  the  soil, 
Then  a  kinfolk  were  the  makers — 
Yon  old  mansion  shows  their  toil. 

'Twas  a  forefather  first  planted 
Tree  and  vine  which  round  it  stand, 
His  the  patience  that  was  granted 
Plenty  from  the  fruitful  land. 

There  a  vigorous  household  flourished, 
Sturdy  stock  and  line  were  they, 
Men  and  women  there  were  nourished 
Fashioned  from  a  generous  clay. 

Where  are  those,  the  sons  and  daughters, 
Scions  sprung  from  his  proud  race — 
Scattered  o'er  the  world  of  waters 
Strive  their  children  for  a  place. 

Once  that  ancient  shelter  standing 
There  on  gently  rising  slope, 
Echoed  to  a  merry  banding, 
Marriage  feast  and  song  of  hope. 


THE  RETURN 

Now  decays  the  fallen  rafter, 
Ruin  soon  will  claim  its  own, 
Now  no  more  resounds  the  laughter, 
Mirth  and  Joy  have  long  since  flown. 

Those  dear  days  and  blest  condition 
Are  no  more  within  its  walls, 
And  survives  but  old  tradition, 
Phantom-haunting  musty  halls. 

Thence  went  sons  to  serve  the  nation 
In  their  country's  hour  of  dread, 
One,  to  pour  a  life's  libation 
When  at  Fredericksburg  he  bled. 

Reads  his  roster,  "Killed  in  action 
In  the  forefront  of  the  slain;" 
Freedmen  know  that  benefaction 
Was  not  given  there  in  vain. 

Long  a  mother  mourned  the  lov'd  one, 
He,  her  fondest  hope  and  pride, 
And  her  thought  was  of  that  dear  son 
Long  years  after  when  she  died. 

[99] 


AGE  OF  GOLD 


'Soldier  heroes,  thee  we  render 
Thy  exalted  manhood's  crown, 
And  thy  deed's  undying  splendor 
Shall  posterity  pass  down. 

'Honored  is  thy  glorious  doing, 
Strong  of  soul  thou  wert,  and  brave, 
Noblest  aim  and  course  pursuing, 
Thy  name  lives,  despite  the  grave.' 

Turns  the  pilgrim  to  the  churchyard 
Where  lie  they  whose  name  he  bears, 
Venerates  each  mounded  earth-sward, 
Peace,  they  rest  from  earthly  cares. 

Sad  at  heart,  he  goes,  to  ponder 
Of  existence',  strange-  writ  page, 
Bends  his  course  again  to  wander  — 
Life  —  'tis  but  a  pilgrimage. 


VOYAGING 

fke  Rhyme  of  a  Return  Journey 

PROLOGUE 

You  brother  nomads  of  the  North 

Whom  search  for  wealth  impels  to  roam, 

Far  from  the  hallowed  place  of  birth, 

Far  from  the  tendril  ties  of  home, 

I  crave  this  boon,  an  idle  moment's  time :  :  :  ; 

To  hearken  to  my  vagrant  voyage-rhyme. 

For  brothers  all  are  we,  of  common  kin, 

Each  going  forth  with  hopes  to  win 

In  measure  great  or  small,  some  precious  part 

Of  that  elusive,  witchful  thing 

So  few  unto  successful  wooing  bring; 

Fair  fickle  wanton  Fortune's  aureate  heart. 

How  quick  the  years  have  flown  away, 
The  time  seems  but  as  yesterday, 
Since  to  that  toilsome  trail  we  turned 
Where  glowing  camp-fires  nightly  burned. 
Still  on  that  barrier's  icy  steep 

[for] 


<fHE  AGE   OF  GOLD 

The  comrades  of  our  journey  sleep; 
Beneath  those  rough-heaped  mounds  of  earth 
They  rest,  whose  trial  proved  their  worth. 
In  yon  enclosure  moulders  one — 
Earth's  gentlest  truest  bravest  son, 
Who,  wearying  of  rude  Mammon's  quest, 
Turned  from  the  path  and  sought  his  rest. 
There  ever  Hope,  her  magic  healing  brought, 
Unto  the  weary  work-worn  Argonaut, 
There,  btil»  beyond,  the  treasure  of  his  dream 
Lay  glinting  with  its  glamorous  golden  gleam. 

But  as  water  fowl  in  early  spring, 
By  Nature's  primal  instinct,  wing 
Back  to  some  dear  welcoming  lake 
Whose  gentle  calm  and  sheltering  brake 
With  subtle  and  mysterious  power 
Recalls  to  them  Life's  natal  hour, 
So  too,  where  e'er  his  journey  wends, 
His  course  at  last  the  wanderer  bends 
To  find  again  the  happy  shore 
He  left  in  days  long  gone  before; 
Greets  there  once  more  the  loyal  few 

[102} 


V  OT AGING 

His  early  youth  and  boyhood  knew; 
Kindles  afresh  the  hearthstone's  flame 
And  joyous,  hears  his  childhood  name 
Breathed  in  a  mother's  passioned  sigh 
In  cadence  of  the  years  gone  by. 


THE  VOYAGE 

"What  ho,  ye  pilgrims  northward  bound," 
The  steamship's  deep  diapasons  sound; 
As  "All  Ashore"  rings  loud  and  clear 
The  vessel  swings  from  the  crowded  pier 
And,  gliding  across  the  harbor  bright, 
Speeds  away  from  the  watchers'  sight. 
Her  eager  passengers  press  the  rail 
To  catch  the  last  faint-sounding  hail, 
While  flutt'ring  signals  strive  to  tell 
To  distant  friends,  the  heart's  farewell. 
On  board  a  merry  throng  was  there, 
Seekers  for  gold,  returning  where 
Success  had  once  its  wonder  wrought, 
Nor  reckoned  they  that  dear  'twas  bought; 
Though  few  of  they  who  made  that  band 
Again  would  view  their  native  land. 

As  swift  to  the  throb  of  the  pulsing  screw 
The  clust'ring  hamlets  hide  from  view, 
A  scene  of  beauty  rare  to  find 
In  dim  recession,  fades  behind, 

1*04} 


<fHE    V OT AGE 

There,  snow-clad,  silent,  silvery,  stand 

Sun-kissed  Ranier — Olympics  grand, 

Towering  in  cold  impassive  might, 

Bathed  in  the  day's  fast  waning  light, 

In  hoary  majesty  arrayed 

O'erlooking  field  and  forest  glade, 

Watching  their  image  in  the  bay; 

While,  smiling  back  from  its  surface  there, 

Radiant  in  their  promise  fair, 

The  mirrored  countenance  of  cities  lay. 

Dim  vistaed  reach  of  varied  scroll, 
Does  that  voyage  to  the  sight  unroll; 
Headlands  grow  dim,  strange  ships  pass  by, 
The  fisher  craft  to  their  homing  ply; 
Along  the  sea-girt  mountain's  flank, 
Stand  stately  fir  in  serried  rank; 
Scenes  each  that  pleasured  the  sense  anew 
Were  daily  revealed  as  the  voyage  grew 
Steadily  on  past  isle  and  strand 
To  the  gateway  of  that  distant  land 
Where,  battling  on  amid  the  cold 
The  miner  delves  for  hidden  gold. 


<THE  AGE   OF  GOLD 

Like  a  benison  of  peace  and  rest 

The  shades  of  darkness  fall; 

The  sea  birds  seek  the  ocean's  breast, 

The  mist-shroud  covers  all; 

Then,  to  the  half -expect  ant  ear, 

Sound  dangers  ever  leaguing  near, 

And  pregnant  fancy's  fearsome  crew 

Thrusts  unseen  peril  to  the  view; 

Show  the  glacier's  calf  submerged,  that  waits 

Where  swift  tides  rush  through  narrowing  straits, 

While  the  surf  bell's  warning  toll, 

Bidding  us  beware  the  shoal, 

The  thick  fog's  muffling  veil, 

The  whistling  siren's  mournful  wail, 

All  speak,  in  accents  fraught  with  fear, 

Of  dire  disaster  lurking  there, 

And  wreck's  beneath,  whose  story  each  well  knew. 

One  night,  as  by  the  rail  I  stood 

To  mark  the  surge  of  the  restless  flood, 

In  the  gleaming  phosphorescence's  glow, 

From  the  wrack  and  spume  in  the  vessel's  wake, 

Methought  came  a  sound,  as  of  lips  that  spake 

[sod] 


<fHE    VOX  AGE 

Of  the  countless  souls  that  sleep 

In  the  dismal  dungeon-keep 

Of  that  sepulchre  below; 

And  the  sound  of  the  surf  on  a  distant  reef 

As  it  rose  and  fell  in  its  note  of  grief, 

Was  human,  in  its  woe. 


'Old  ocean,  what  of  thy  myriad  dead, 

The  one-time  wanderers  o'er  thy  main, 

Who  have  found  their  rest  upon  thy  bed, 

Along  the  waste  of  thy  shadowy  plain; 

Is  thy  salt  but  the  tears  that  were  shed  for  men 

By  women  that  ever  will  watch  and  weep 

For  the  ones  who  have  vanished  from  mortal  ken, 

For  those  that  were  given  thy  trust  to  keep; 

Is  thy  lisping  wave  as  it  curls  on  the  shore 

But  their  souls'  sad  sighing  evermore, 

Is  thy  gull's  shrill  cry  but  re-echoing  pain 

From  them  who  have  waited  and  watched  in  vain^ 

Give  me  the  message  thou  hast  of  their  doom, 

Depict  me  a  scene  from  their  prison  gloom.' 


<?HE  AGE   OF  GOLD 

The  billowed  tongues  of  a  reef-bound  shore, 
The  night  wind's  voice  from  the  corded  mast, 
Murmur  the  tale  from  the  annals  of  yore, 
Tell  softly  of  brave  deeds  done  in  the  past. 
Tell  how  seamen,  whose  hope  was  a  buoying  plank 
Gave  place  to  a  fellow,  and  freely  sank, 
Sank  down  to  where  formless  monsters  creep, 
Where  the  tribes  of  sea  at  their  banquets  keep, 
And  there,  in  the  grewsome  Kraken's  wold 
Dissolved  in  its  all-embracing  fold. 

Tell  of  storm  that  raged  and  of  tempest's  breath 
That  encompassed  round  with  its  threat  of  death, 
While  far  abeam  flamed  the  beacon  light 
And  the  surf  bell  boom'd  through  the  dark'ning 

night. 

Although  strong  and  brave  and  true  was  each, 
Their  hour  had  come — a  wreck  on  the  beach 
Was  all  that  remained  to  tell  the  tale 
Of  the  ship  that  perished  in  the  gale, 
Wrap't  about  with  its  winding  sheet 
Of  spindrift  spray  and  snow  and  sleet. 

*     *     *     * 

[ro8} 


fHE    V OT AGE 

With  a  fav'ring  tide  the  harbor  side 

At  last  is  safely  won, 

And  our  noble  ship  lies  at  her  slip 

Peaceful  in  the  sun. 

The  pilot's  skilful  hand 

Guiding  past  shoal  and  sand, 

Has  brought  us  scatheless  through, 

Then  to  each  other  as  we  part, 

We  speak,  each  one  with  grateful  heart, 

Of  our  captain  and  his  crew. 

Be  it  thus  with  the  storm- toss' d  human  bark, 

As  it  gropes  its  way  in  the  unknown  dark, 

The  star  of  its  purpose  ever  before; 

Amid  currents  that  set  to  temptation's  reef, 

Onward  through  fogs  of  a  blind  belief, 

To  a  port  on  an  unknown  shore. 

And  thou,  Voyager,  watch  well  thy  ship, 

To  thy  compass  look,  let  the  helm  not  slip 

Lest,  driven  unguided  before  the  blast, 

Thy  bark  upon  the  shoals  be  cast. 


[109} 


L'ENVOI 

It  has  seemed  to  me,  as  I  sail  life's  sea 

And  meet  its  motley  craft, 

It  will  matter  not  when  the  end  be  got 

Whether  the  winds  be  fair,  that  waft 

The  mariner  across  that  sea 

To  his  dreamless  sleep  for  eternity, 

Nor  whether  reef  nor  rock  nor  shoal 

Shall  lurk  before  the  haven-goal, 

If  only  the  compass  of  Love  he  doth  heed 

If,  strong  and  sure  in  his  time  of  need 

Shall  sturdy  Affection  grasp  the  wheel 

To  guide  the  course  of  the  furrowing  keel 

Which  ploughs  the  field  of  the  restless  main 

Where  men  fare  forth  in  search  of  gain. 

Then  at  last,  from  the  bounds  of  that  ocean- vale, 

True  friends  will  long  for  the  well-lov'd  sail, 

Fond  hearts  will  hunger  and  yearn  for  the  one 

Who  has  passed  from  sight,  whose  hour  is  done. 


[I  TO] 


AT   LAST 

Homeward  bound,  astern  the  scene, 
That  once  in  eagerness  we  sought; 
The  weary  years  lie  all  between, 
The  golden  sands  we  strove  to  glean, 
Fate  niched,  the  while  we  wrought. 

Homeward  bound,  who  waits  us  there 
Of  those  we  grieved  to  leave  behind, 
To  anxious  vigil,  days  of  care 
And  tidings  scant  of  they  who  fare 
To  delve,  where  gold  is  mined. 

Homeward  bound,  now  in  review 
Familiar  landscape  faces  show; 
The  glade  which  once  our  camp-fire  knew, 
The  beetling  crag  past  which  we  drew 
To  Eldorado-land  below. 

Homeward  bound,  what  visions  throng, 

What  memories  crowd  apace, 

As  'mid  the  scenes  we  surge  along 


<fHE  AGE  OF  GOLD 

Which  knew  our  hopeful  voyage  song, 
As  sped  that  Northward  race. 

Homeward  bound,  we  breast  the  stream 
Whose  current  bore  us  to  the  goal; 
A  troublous  phantasy,  a  dream 
These  years  of  disappointment  seem, 
And  wounds  they  gave  have  seared  the  soul. 


THE  LESSON  OF  THE  YEARS 

Ye  who  will  voyage  from  that  place 
Where  love  and  trust  and  friendship  are, 
Who,  to  some  spot  remote,  shall  trace 
Fair  Fortune's  form,  of  fickle  grace, 
Beware — the  quest  will  leave  its  scar. 

Finis 


Author's  Note 

The  following  critical  appreciation  of  this  work 
was  received  some  four  years  ere  the  manuscript 
ventured  to  approach  a  publisher.  It  sounds  the 
depth  to  which  destructive  pessimism  will  sink  in 
venting  the  venom  of  its  individual  opinion. 

The  sad  mission  of  such  misanthropy  is  to  rend 
the  viscera  of  authorship  and  revel  in  the  offal.  To 
true  criticism  of  art  and  letters  it  bears  the  relation 
ship  of  an  abattoir-butcher  to  the  office  of  skilled 
and  humanitarian  surgery. 

"The  author  of  this  collection  knows  nothing  what 
ever  of  the  laws  of  metre,  or  of  the  laws  of  rhythm ;  nor 
has  he  an  ear  to  guide  him  when  knowledge  fails.  He 
introduces  and  omits  feet  not  in  violation  of  law  only, 
but  in  violation  of  sound.  His  combinations  of  rhythms 
are  often  utterly  unpermissible,  both  according  to  the 
canons  of  prosody  and  according  to  the  instincts  of  the 
musical  ear. 

"His  ear  is  equally  deficient  in  the  matter  of  rhyme. 
Moreover  he  has  no  sense  for  the  singing  quality  or  the 
absence  of  it  in  words,  which  he  chooses  with  the  free 
dom  of  the  prose  writer. 

"His  disregard  of  form  and  of  music  is  not  compen 
sated  for  by  any  power  of  imagery  or  vigor  in  narrative. 


The  collection  does  not  present  a  single  vivid  picture  or 
tell  one  story  strongly. 

"A  detailed  criticism  would  be  as  long  as  the  volume, 
and  is  not  warranted  by  the  material." 

"New  York,  September  18,  1905." 


YB  121 13 


740016 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


